The Rise Of The House Of Telcontar
by French Pony
Summary: As King and Queen of Gondor, Aragorn and Arwen face the trials and challenges of creating a family and establishing a kingdom with international clout.
1. A Springtime Passion

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof. No profit is being made from this work.

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Foreword

Welcome to the story! Before I begin my introduction to this tale, I feel that I should share something about my writing in general. All of the serious works that I have written take place in the same conception of Middle Earth. They are all stand-alone pieces; as of this moment I have written no sequels to any of my stories. But if you see a name that you think you remember from an earlier story, you're right. It probably is either that same character returning or a direct reference to an earlier character. 

On to this story in particular. J.R.R. Tolkien was a man of far-reaching imagination, and there are times when that imagination overran itself slightly, leaving intriguing holes to explore. One of these is his account of the marriages between Elves and Men and the shared ancestry of Aragorn and Arwen. Elves and Men seem to be similar but separate animals, and it is quite rare in nature that separate species will mate. Horses and donkeys have been crossbred by humans, and are similar enough genetically to produce offspring. In nearly all cases, these offspring are sterile; in all of history, only two molly mules have ever been known to have foals.

As far as we know, all male cross-species hybrids are sterile, as are the overwhelming majority of females. By this logic, neither Aragorn nor Arwen should exist at all, as they are both descendants of a long line of Elf-Man hybrids. But they do exist, and therefore it would seem that this particular law of biology has been set aside. It does not seem to have been set aside lightly, though; Tolkien records only a handful of marriages between Elves and Men, none of which produced exceptionally large families. I imagine that conceiving, carrying, and giving birth to such children was an extremely difficult and dangerous prospect. This story proposes, in a non-scientific way, to explore some of those dangers as well as some other obstacles specific to the characters.

The story is set about ten years after the War of the Ring. The PG-13 rating is meant seriously. There is no excessive violence or sex (other than that implied by the topic of the story), but it does feature adult characters in adult situations which may be somewhat intense at times. Enjoy it, and I will meet you at the end.

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1. A Springtime Passion

The small crowd of nobles outside the Archives of the White Tower stirred with impatience. The King and Queen should have arrived half an hour ago for the grand opening. The ceremony had been planned for several weeks, and the Queen herself was to unlock the door and escort the Archivist into his renewed domain.

By order of the King, the Archives had been completely restored and remodeled. The past nine months had been a flurry of activity in this dusty, quiet corner of the Citadel. Ancient, crumbling manuscripts had been unearthed and brought into daylight for the first time in centuries. A contingent of Elves had arrived in a long caravan and had disappeared into the bowels of the Tower. It was said that they were restoring the manuscripts to usefulness, although some of the city's notables were less than pleased at the idea. They found the Elves uncanny and were not quite comfortable with revealing so much of their history and past doings to outsiders. The King had merely raised an eyebrow at this objection and had pointed out that not only did the Elves already know much of the history of Gondor, they were not especially interested in it. The nobles had been quiet on the subject since then, trying to decide if they should be insulted by this or not.

They had soon been distracted from the question by the gutting and reconstruction of the Archive suite itself. Teams of workmen tore out the rotting shelves and disintegrating baskets. They removed the furniture, repairing and polishing the usable pieces and burning the ones too dilapidated to repair. When the suite had been stripped as bare as the day it had been built, the workmen went through and scrubbed it thoroughly, washing away decades of dust and grime and not a few well-established spider colonies. Artisans skilled in the use of metal and glass arrived to construct new shelves. Joiners replaced the burned furniture with sturdy new desks and lecterns. The place had been in a constant hum of activity.

And now it was finished. Old Halandir the Archivist practically danced from foot to foot, desperately wanting to see what had been done to his realm. He was slightly embarrassed that he himself had not thought to restore the Archives at any point during his tenure. Change in the Citadel during the reign of the Stewards had come slowly and unwillingly, and much had fallen into disrepair. The ancient excuse had always been that change would happen by order of the King, if and when he returned. Over the decades, stagnation had become a habit, so ingrained that, when the King did in fact return and give orders for restoration, Halandir had been stunned into complete silence for a full half hour. In the intervening months, his shock had turned to acceptance, and from there to a burning curiosity.

Finally, just when it seemed that the assembled lords could wait no longer before they burst, a young page descended the steps. He straightened his livery and blew a short blast on his horn.

"My Lord, the King, Aragorn Elessar Telcontar!" he announced.

As one, the lords bowed deeply. When they rose, the King stood before them alone. He seemed somewhat preoccupied, but smiled warmly at them. "Gentlemen, my apologies for my tardiness," he said. "Regrettably, the Queen will be unable to attend the opening of the Archives. She is indisposed. I am afraid, Halandir, that instead of the lovely Queen Arwen Undómiel to escort you into your realm, you will have to make do with me."

"My Lord, the honor is as great," Halandir said quickly.

The King smiled and moved to stand before the new door of stout oak bound with bright strips of brass. He motioned the page to stand beside him and turned to the assembly.

"Lords of Gondor," he began. "We have embarked upon the Fourth Age of the World, an era of rebirth and renewal and freedom from the tyranny of the Dark Lord Sauron. Brave were the deeds that led to his overthrow, yet they did not spring whole from the air. Before there are deeds, there must be a decision, and before the decision must come study. The information that set the Ringbearer upon his path, the identification of a small gold ring as the Master Ring that was evil, came from this Archive, for it was here that Gandalf read Isildur's account of the Last Alliance and the claiming of the One Ring. This Archive has performed great service, and it is not fitting that such a treasure be left to rot while the deeds of Men are celebrated. Therefore, let the renewal launched in this Archive come to rest upon it, and may our history be reborn into our future!"

He extended his hand to the page, who produced a bright brass key from a pouch at his belt. The King took the key and slowly unlocked the door. At his touch, the door swung silently inward on its hinges. The King beckoned to the Archivist and stood at the doorway to usher him formally into his domain. Halandir stepped forward, across the threshold, and stopped dead in his tracks, gazing open-mouthed in delight.

"My word!" he exclaimed, looking all around him. Where once there had been sagging, half-rotten wooden shelves filled with moldering scrolls, books and errant sheets of parchment piled haphazardly on and around them, there were now smooth, strong steel shelves. The writings, lovingly restored to clarity and suppleness, were arranged neatly on the shelves and protected by cupboard doors of wood and glass. The naked, dripping candles had been replaced by oil lamps with protective glass globes, and the tables, chairs and lecterns gleamed softly in their light. Halandir looked up, and there was the crowning glory. A small window set close to the ceiling had been uncovered and re-glazed so that a beam of bright sunlight fell on the antique oak reading table in the center of the room.

Halandir was entranced as he walked through the bright, clean Archive. He barely noticed the rest of the nobility of Gondor filing in after him, murmuring in awe at the transformation. For many minutes they explored the suite, lifting the glass doors to touch the scrolls and books and marvel at their softness. Through all this, the King stood at the door, smiling the contented smile of one who has just given a wonderful toy to a small child. When Halandir could speak again, he made his way over to the King and knelt at his feet.

"My Lord," he said, "I have not words fitting enough to thank you for this gift that you have given to your land."

"Rise, Halandir," the King said. "Your thanks will be in the use of the Archive and the spreading of lore and knowledge around the Citadel."

"I will do so, my Lord," Halandir promised earnestly. "My Lord?"

"Yes, Halandir?"

"Forgive my boldness, but the Queen . . . you had said she is indisposed. Surely my Lady is not ill?"

The King raised an eyebrow at him. "She is."

"Oh, my Lord!" Halandir gasped. "How can that be? I have read of the Fair Folk that neither age nor illness can touch them."

"It is a mystery to me," the King admitted. "But she has indeed been ill these past four days."

"If it please my Lord," Halandir said, "I would ask to convey my wishes for a speedy recovery to my Lady. For all the beauty of these Archives will be dimmed until my Lady may grace them with her presence."

The King smiled at him. "Your speech is fair," he said. "I will be sure to convey your wishes to the Queen personally. Such devotion should not go unrewarded."

"Thank you, my Lord." Halandir bowed deeply and resumed his exploration of the Archives.

At the earliest possible moment, Aragorn made polite excuses and left the Archives. He strode purposefully through the winding corridors of the Citadel until he reached the closed door to the royal suite. The guard on duty gave a formal half-bow as Aragorn knocked discreetly on the door.

After a moment, a muffled voice called, "Who knocks?"

"It is I, your husband, my Lady."

Another pause. "Please come in."

Aragorn entered the suite as quietly as he could. Arwen was sitting up in the window seat, wrapped in quilts. She was much paler than usual and seemed exhausted. Aragorn crossed the room to kneel beside her. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I am so very tired, Estel," Arwen said. "One of my ladies brought me some bread this morning, and I was quite sick then. Now I am hungry, but I dare not call for dinner lest I be sick again."

Aragorn frowned. He did not like the idea of Arwen being ill; such misfortune, he felt, should not happen to any of Elven kind, whether they had chosen mortality or no. He put an arm around her shoulders. "Can you walk?" he asked. "Only as far as the terrace. Perhaps the sunshine might do you good."

Arwen nodded, and Aragorn helped her to her feet. With an arm around her waist to support her, he led her out onto their private terrace overlooking a small flower garden. Pots of honeysuckle and roses sat in the corners of the terrace, perfuming the air by day and by night. Arwen breathed in the flowers' scent happily.

"It smells so sweet out here," she said. "Has someone added more flowerpots?"

"It is the same as it has ever been," Aragorn answered. 

"Then perhaps one of the plants has died and is rotting," Arwen said. "The air is so very sweet . . . " and she suddenly went limp in his arms.

Terrified, Aragorn carried Arwen back inside and laid her on the great bed. He threw open the door with a bang, startling the guard. "Call a healer, now!" Aragorn ordered. "The Queen has fainted." The guard ran off without a word.

Aragorn charged back into the royal suite and threw every window wide open. He moistened a handkerchief from the pitcher on the washstand and dabbed at Arwen's temples and wrists. After a moment, her eyelids fluttered, and then she looked at him in confusion. Aragorn mustered a small, brave smile for his lady.

"Perhaps the exertion of walking was too much for you after all," he said. "There is no cause for alarm; you merely fainted, and I have summoned a healer to examine you fully."

Arwen looked worried. "Can it be that the Doom of Men is upon me so soon?" she asked.

"I should hope not," Aragorn answered. "More than likely, you will be restored to your usual grace within a week. Then you can go and visit the Archives. Halandir asked after you today and begged to be remembered to you."

"He is a kind man," Arwen said. "I will certainly pay him a visit when I am well again. Oh, Estel, do you think --" 

Her question was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Old Ioreth, the venerable matriarch of the Houses of Healing, walked into the room. She dropped a short curtsey to the King and then shooed him away from the bed.

"Meaning no disrespect, my Lord must move aside," she said. "I must have some space to see to my Lady." Aragorn recognized the aura of command every bit as powerful as the Captain of the Guards and obediently retreated to the window seat. Ioreth looked into Arwen's eyes and throat, measured her pulse and felt the temperature of her cheeks. She asked Arwen several questions in a voice too low for Aragorn to hear, then turned to him.

"I must respectfully ask my Lord to leave this room," she said. "I must examine my Lady more closely, and I would have no man in the room." Aragorn nodded to her and walked out into the corridor, politely closing the door behind him.

The guard at the door came to stiff attention. Aragorn acknowledged him distractedly, at a loss for something to do. He was not accustomed to being left out of important councils, and with each passing moment, his imagination supplied ever more gruesome scenarios. Perhaps Arwen had succumbed to the lure of the sea and would slowly fade away, denied the sanctuary of the Undying Lands by her marriage to him. Perhaps she was dying quickly of a fever or slowly of a wasting disease. In his mind's eye, Aragorn could already see Arwen laid to rest, cold and still, the Evenstar forever darkened. He paced up and down the corridor, wishing that he had his pipe and a pouch of pipeweed with him. Smoke would calm his nerves, but his supplies were in his quarters.

Aragorn's gaze fell on a tapestry hanging on the wall. Of indeterminate age, it depicted a high-born lady and her handmaidens riding merrily through a field. He found himself studying the embroidery intensely, wondering what small, deft hand had wrought such fine stitches. Had someone waited for that lady as she lay ill in her bed? What had become of her? Aragorn shook his head to clear it of such gloomy thoughts. It would do no good to worry now; the news would come eventually, for good or ill, and there was nothing he could do to hurry it along.

Just as Aragorn was sure he was about to force his way into his suite and demand an answer, the door opened, and Ioreth, her eyes sparkling, beckoned him inside. Arwen was sitting up, still pale and wan, but smiling tentatively. Ioreth beamed broadly. Aragorn relaxed a little.

"I trust the Queen is not on death's doorstep after all, Mistress Ioreth?" he hazarded.

Ioreth snorted with laughter, then caught herself and curtseyed. "My Lord," she said. "Saving your reverence, but both my Lord and my Lady have worried much over a very little matter. Why, if my Lady had thought to call me at once when she first felt ill, I could have seen this much earlier, and so much of my Lady's worry might have been prevented. At death's door! Hardly! Why --"

Aragorn sighed pointedly. Upon first meeting her, he had thought that Ioreth must either be very stupid or very intelligent, as she could never keep her rambling conversation on track. The more he got to know her, the more he decided that she must be intelligent. This determination did not make listening to her any easier, however. "Mistress Ioreth," he said, in his most commanding tones. "For the love of your country, please tell me what ails the Queen, before your King shatters from not knowing."

"Oh, did I not mention it to my Lord?" Ioreth had the grace to look apologetic. "It is a cause for much joy. My Lady the Queen is to be a mother this winter."

Time stopped for Aragorn. He stood and stared foolishly at Arwen as his world reoriented itself. Arwen was not deathly ill; there would be no funeral. Instead there would be --

"A baby?" he asked.

"The expected result of pregnancy, my Lord," Ioreth assured him.

"When?" Aragorn asked.

Ioreth and Arwen traded a look. Ioreth glanced at the floor before answering. "I cannot say precisely, my Lord," she said. "Many a mother have I attended during confinement, but all were daughters of Men. Begging my Lord's pardon, my Lady is not of a kind that I know. I have little experience in the ways of Elves in matters of childbearing."

"That is easily remedied," Aragorn said. "Surely, there must be records on the subject in the Archives. Halandir would be glad to help you. And if there is nothing there, why, we have only to send word to Ithilien and summon an Elvish healer to attend the Queen."

"It is not so simple as that," Arwen said softly. "In my veins runs the blood of both Elves and Men, and I look to both kindreds in matters of the body."

"And my Lord is a son of Men," Ioreth added, "which is an added complication. So much of this match is strange to me. I dare not predict any more exactly than I have already done. The child will most likely come this winter. More I cannot say."

Aragorn smiled. "I suppose we will have some warning ere the event is at hand," he said. "In the meantime, I will assemble the criers and have them announce this most joyous news to the people of Gondor."

He was brought up short by the twin looks of horror directed at him by both Arwen and Ioreth. "What? Should the people not know of the impending arrival of an heir to the throne?"

"Please, say nothing yet!" Arwen begged.

"My Lord must understand," Ioreth explained, "it is an ill omen to trumpet such news until the mother has carried her child three months at the least. My Lady has only been with child two months. I respectfully urge my Lord to wait another month before spreading the news."

"I have never heard of such a custom," Aragorn said, baffled.

Ioreth curtseyed deeply. "My Lord has spent his life in the company of men," she said. "Perhaps the rites and rituals of women concerning the bearing of children are strange to my Lord. But I would ask that these rites be observed with the same respect given to the rituals of men before battle."

Aragorn nodded once. "Very well," he said. "I will honor this custom. One month from today, I will announce the child to the people of Minas Tirith."

"Thank you," Arwen said gratefully. 

"It is well said, my Lord," Ioreth added. "Now, does my Lord or my Lady wish to ask any more questions at present?"

"None at the moment, Mistress Ioreth," Arwen said. "However, there is one request I would make."

"Make it, my Lady,"

"Mistress Ioreth, will you attend me through the months of my confinement? I will confess to a certain unease concerning the bearing of children, and I would wish for no better attendant by my side."

Ioreth smiled. "I would be honored to be your attendant and midwife, my Lady," she said with a curtsey. "Yet, if I may counter with a request of my own, I would request that a midwife of the Fair Folk, should one exist, be brought to Minas Tirith. If I am to attend my Lady in matters of childbirth, I would learn all that such a midwife could teach concerning birth among the Elves."

"It will be so," Aragorn agreed. "I shall send a message to Ithilien tomorrow. I trust this will not violate the custom of three months' secrecy?"

"In such an instance, a message is allowed," Arwen said, smiling.

"Then it is agreed," Aragorn replied. "A message tomorrow."

"If there is nothing else to discuss," Ioreth said, "I will return to the Houses of Healing, for there is much yet left undone."

"Go then," Aragorn said. "Your warm heart and gentle hands are much appreciated."

"Thank you, my Lord. My Lady." Ioreth dropped a final curtsey and left the royal suite. 

Aragorn sat on the bed next to Arwen and took her in his arms. "A baby," he said softly. "An heir to the throne of Gondor. We begin to be a proper little family."

In his arms, Arwen smiled, but her eyes were troubled.


	2. In This Rose Contained

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2. In This Rose Contained

The morning sickness seemed to hit Arwen particularly hard. Aragorn had ordered the cooks always to keep a supply of rusks on hand, as they seemed to be the only food that Arwen could keep down. After a few days, Arwen began to keep a small plate of rusks and a mug of weak tea with her wherever she went. She did not eat proper meals, but nibbled instead at the rusks throughout the day. At first, Aragorn worried that his wife was not eating enough, but as Arwen did not show any signs of starvation, he gradually stopped worrying.

He had sent a message to Ithilien with the fastest courier in the stable asking that a skilled Elven midwife be sent to Minas Tirith to attend the Queen. He had ordered that a suite of rooms near the royal suite be made up and instructed the guards at the city gate that any messengers from the Elves be sent to him immediately, no matter what he might be doing at the time.

Gradually, Arwen became rather withdrawn. She began to lose interest in conversation, preferring to spend more and more time curled in the window seat working at a long girdle she was embroidering for Éowyn of Ithilien. Her ladies reported that when they gathered to do tapestry, the sessions were no longer merry and filled with gossip and laughter. The Queen had not forbidden such talk, but her long silences had gradually stilled the tongues of her women. Arwen still enjoyed gardening, in particular the cultivation of her patch of different strains of _athelas_. Aragorn guessed that the scent of the plant eased her morning sickness, and Ioreth agreed with him when he mentioned it.

"Aye," she said. "An old country remedy, it is, among the folk of Lossarnach. A woman newly with child would carry a nosegay of the plant -- _kingsfoil_ they call it there -- and breathe its scent when she felt faint. The custom has spread throughout the city as well, in recent years."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that. It seemed that there was far more to the world of women than he had ever suspected.

The night was as hard on Arwen as the day. She did not sleep as easily as she had before, and when she did sleep, her rest was light and plagued with nightmares. On the worst nights, Aragorn would wake to find her gone. He did not exactly worry about her; she was, after all, Queen in the Citadel, and he was reasonably sure that she would come to no harm. He did wonder where she went, and if she was finding peace there. 

One week, Arwen left the bedroom every night. Upon waking to find her missing for the seventh night in a row, Aragorn decided to take action. He lit a candle from the banked embers in the hearth and carried it out into the hall. The guard outside the door stood to attention.

"Did the Queen pass by here?" Aragorn asked him.

"Yes, my Lord," the guard answered.

"Did she mention her destination to you?"

"No, my Lord," the guard said. "But she took the same path she has taken these past six nights, and many nights before that. Always when my Lady walks at night, she follows the left-hand corridor."

"Thank you," Aragorn said, and turned down the left-hand corridor. Whenever he found a guard or another resident of the Citadel awake, he asked if they had seen Arwen passing. In this way, he followed her path down many levels to the Archives. He found Halandir sitting on a bench outside the suite, idly leafing through a volume of Númenorean romances. At the sound of the King's footsteps, the Archivist leaped to his feet.

"My Lord," he said. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to your Archives."

Aragorn smiled at the man. "Was it also your pleasure to welcome the Queen an hour ago?" he asked.

Halandir nodded. "My Lady the Queen is within," he said. "She has often come here of an evening. She wishes to be alone in the Archives, and always I have granted her that wish. But my Lord may rest assured, always I sit awake outside the door so that none may disturb my Lady as she reads."

"Did she ask this of you?"

"No, my Lord. I sit because I know that, had I a fair wife who wished to visit the Archives at midnight, I would want the Archivist to sit up for her. I would do no less for my Queen than I would for my own family."

Aragorn nodded. "You are a good man, Halandir," he said. "I will not forget this kindness." Halandir bowed, and Aragorn turned toward the stair. As he started the return journey to his suite, he noted Halandir settling back down with his book of romances to watch over Arwen as long as she might need him.

Five days later, Aragorn was holding his weekly small claims court. Two farmers stood before him and argued ownership of an elderly molly mule. The mule herself had been brought into the court as evidence -- something involving various small markings on her body -- and she stood placidly twitching her tail. Aragorn tried to look interested in the tales told by the farmers, but feared it was a losing battle. He wondered if the mule was as bored as he was. Looking in her direction, the King was amused to see the animal wink at him, almost as if she understood how he felt and sympathized with him. It was a strange world where a King could be comforted by a mule, Aragorn thought.

The sound of the door opening interrupted the steady argument. Aragorn sat a little straighter, glad of any distraction. A young man in the uniform of a gate warden -- Dafyth was his name, Aragorn remembered -- signaled from the doorway that he wished to be recognized.

"One moment," Aragorn said to the farmers. "Come in, Dafyth."

Dafyth strode smartly to the dais where the King sat and bowed deeply. "My Lord," he said, "I was ordered to report to my Lord immediately should a messenger from the Elves appear at our gates."

"Yes," Aragorn said. "Has one arrived?"

Dafyth straightened out of his bow. "My Lord," he said. "A great lady and her entourage have entered the City. They . . . they are Elves, My Lord!"

Aragorn smiled at the young man. "Thank you, Dafyth," he said. "See to it that the lady and her escorts are shown to the rooms prepared for them and given an opportunity to refresh themselves. When they have done so, I will gladly receive them in my private drawing room." Dafyth clicked his heels sharply as he saluted, turned and marched out of the court room.

The two farmers watched him go and then looked at each other and at the mule. "Well," one said to the other. "I suppose it'd be only right that the beast board with you, seeing as how you've got a stall in your stables and plenty of grain to spare. But perhaps I might borrow back her services at plowing time every now and again?"

"Agreed," the other farmer said. Both farmers shook hands and bowed to the King. "We thank you for your wisdom, my Lord," they said quickly. Aragorn nodded at them with as much royal solemnity as he could muster. The farmer who had won custody of the mule took up her lead rope.

"Come along, old Jennet," he said. "You wouldn't want to miss the chance to see a great lady of the Fair Folk, now would you?" And the two farmers and the mule left the small claims court, happy to have had their say and excited to see the Elves' procession into the City.

The farmers were not the only ones who were excited, Aragorn noted as he went to ready the drawing room. Through the open window, he could see the citizens of Minas Tirith dropping their work to run and gawk at the second procession of Elves through the streets in a year. 

An hour after the noise and commotion had died down, a page knocked discreetly at the door of the royal drawing room. "Come in," Aragorn said, as he rose to greet his guest.

The door opened, and a tall, pale Elf lady glided in. As the lady swept a graceful curtsey, Aragorn caught a glimpse of her eyes, and was stunned by the depth and age he saw there.

"My Lord Elessar, Elf-stone, friend of my people," the lady began in a deep, mellow voice. "I come in answer to your summons. I am Doronrîn, formerly of Mirkwood, now resident in Ithilien. I have some small skill as a midwife."

"My greetings and welcome to you, Lady Doronrîn," Aragorn said smoothly, trying to avoid gazing too deeply into those bottomless eyes. "I do not know what you have been told, so I will state the reason for my summons. My Queen, Arwen Undómiel, is with child, and I wish her to have the best of care that Men and Elves can provide."

"Then you shall have it," Doronrîn replied. "For I was midwife to a Queen once before, long ago."

Aragorn blinked in surprise. He had not known that there were other Queens of Elves in the world, and for a moment, he wondered if Doronrîn had been mistaken. Then he remembered. Doronrîn was originally from Mirkwood, and that meant --

"You were the midwife to King Thranduil's Queen?"

She nodded. "I welcomed his son into the world, who is now the Elven Lord of Ithilien."

Aragorn smiled. He should have guessed. He had asked Legolas to send the best midwife he knew, and Legolas had been true to his word. Suddenly, he felt much more comfortable in Doromîn's presence.

"Shall I have someone show you to your quarters?" he asked. "Perhaps you would care to refresh yourself after your journey."

"If you wish, I will inspect my room," Doronrîn said. "However, I am in no especial need of refreshment. I would sooner see the Queen and begin my task here."

"I believe the Queen is in her garden at the moment," Aragorn told her. "I will inform her that you have arrived and wish to meet with her. However, there is another you must meet today as well." 

Doronrîn raised an eyebrow. "A midwife to the Secondborn?" she asked.

Aragorn nodded. "Her name is Ioreth, and she has the finest touch in this city for delivering children, saving only your own."

"Perhaps not," Doronrîn said. "Ioreth has delivered many children of Men, and I have delivered none. I expect to learn much from this good woman."

"Then I shall summon her immediately." Aragorn signaled for a page to fetch Ioreth and some light refreshment.

Ioreth had been in the middle of tending a small boy with whooping cough when she was summoned, and now that she found herself in the presence of the stately Elf lady, she silently cursed the page for not allowing her at least time to change her apron. She felt wizened and filthy standing in the lovely drawing room with such an intimidating creature as this Doronrîn gazing at her. At first, she was so absorbed by Doronrîn's eyes that she did not hear a word the King was saying.

". . . will learn much together."

"What?" Ioreth shook herself and felt her ears burning with embarrassment. "Beg pardon, my Lord. I was distracted."

The King smiled. "I was introducing the Lady Doronrîn, a midwife to the Elves. If I recall correctly, you had expressed an interest in learning techniques of Elvish midwifery to better attend the Queen. Doronrîn has expressed a similar interest in sharing your wisdom concerning the children of Men. I hope that you two ladies will find your task simple and I expect that you will both learn much from each other."

"I . . . would feel honored to learn from you, my Lady," Ioreth managed to choke out. Doronrîn inclined her head graciously.

"I am sure I will be so honored in turn, Mistress Ioreth," she said. Ioreth bobbed a small curtsey before she could stop herself. She was sure her face must be glowing red by now, but fortunately, neither the King nor Doronrîn seemed to have noticed. Doronrîn was as serene as Ioreth was flustered, and the King was smiling broadly.

"I am well pleased," he said. "Now that you have met one another, I shall find the Queen, that she may also make the acquaintance of the Lady Doronrîn."

The Queen appeared in short order, serenely dignified, but with her face still pink from recent scrubbing. Ioreth guessed that she had been at work in her gardens when Doronrîn had arrived. Ioreth and Doronrîn both curtseyed, and the Queen gave a nod of acknowledgement. 

"Welcome, Lady Doronrîn of Ithilien," she said. "I am Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven and Queen of Gondor and Arnor. I understand that you have been sent to attend to me after the manner of the Elves."

Doronrîn nodded. "I was summoned at the request of the Lady Ioreth. I was told that she desired the aid and assistance of an Elvish midwife."

"Then you are most welcome," the Queen said. "Although I admit that I do not understand the importance of the request. I am not entirely of Elf-kind."

"Begging my Lady's pardon," Ioreth said stoutly, "neither is my Lady entirely of the race of Men. My Lady's not quite one nor the other, and there's no telling which way the child will look."

"Indeed," Doronrîn said. "Mistress Ioreth is correct. None can see all ends, nor the paths we may yet tread. It may be that my knowledge will not be required during your confinement. Nevertheless, Ioreth has deemed it in your best interests that I be here, and it is always better to have what one does not need than to need what one does not have."

The Queen smiled, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink. Ioreth was amazed. Clearly, this Doronrîn must be a great lady among the Elves, if she could cause the Queen of Gondor to blush like a schoolgirl.

"Of course," the Queen said to Doronrîn. "Your counsel is wise. I did not mean to deny you welcome, for welcome you are. I am aware that quarters have been prepared for you. Shall I show them to you?"

"That would be most kind," Doronrîn answered. "But first, I would ask to be allowed to examine you, that I might make myself familiar with your body and its needs. Ioreth may be present, if she wishes."

Ioreth was not entirely comfortable with the cavalier way in which Doronrîn gave away the Queen's privacy, but the Queen merely nodded.

"That would be wise," she said. "Come. I will show you to your rooms. You may take your rest first. I think that I shall present myself to be examined at the fourth hour after noon in my quarters. A page will escort you." With that, the Queen swept out of the room, followed by Doronrîn.

"Well," Ioreth said to no one in particular. "This will certainly be an adventure for an old woman."

The examination of the Queen proved to be yet another surprise in a day full of them. At precisely the fourth hour after noon, Doronrîn and Ioreth were ushered into the King and Queen's suite. The Queen was sitting calmly on the great bed waiting for them. There was a brief exchange of pleasantries, and then Doronrîn asked the Queen to remove all of her clothes. Ioreth felt the blood rushing to her cheeks again. She had taken care only to examine the Queen under modest drapery, and her first instinct was to screech and scold this impertinent Elf lady for her impropriety.

However, the Queen did not seem at all troubled by the request. She nodded gravely, rose and began to strip off her dress. Ioreth, suddenly feeling prudish indeed, turned her head away discreetly. After a few moments, she felt a cool hand on her shoulder.

"Come, Mistress Ioreth," Doronrîn said. "We are ready to begin."

Ioreth turned around to find the Queen once again sitting on the bed, wearing naught but a shawl wrapped around her form. She noted that the Queen looked mildly apprehensive and was secretly relieved to know that she was not alone in finding Doronrîn intimidating. Ioreth took a tentative step toward the bed, and the Queen caught her hand.

"Ioreth," she said, "I am glad you are here."

Doronrîn's examination proved to be very thorough indeed, starting with the state of the Queen's hair and working downward. At every step, the Elf midwife kept up a running commentary, explaining to both Ioreth and the Queen what she was testing in each phase of the examination. Ioreth had never seen such detailed knowledge of the body, and felt herself growing more educated by the second.

". . . hair is thick and lustrous, and well rooted," Doronrîn was murmuring. She released the Queen's scalp and peered into her eyes. "Bright and clear," she declared. "No red lace or cloudiness."

"My Lady, has the morning sickness abated?" Ioreth put in. Doronrîn quirked an eyebrow at the question. The Queen shrugged gracefully.

"It afflicts me still," she said, "although each bout is less than the one before."

"What is this morning sickness?" Doronrîn asked. "I know of no reason that a child-to-be would sicken its mother. Ioreth, is this not an ill sign?"

"Why, no," Ioreth said, surprised. "It is a common ailment. The beginnings of pregnancy are often heralded by nausea and sickness. I never knew the cause, but it seems to have no ill effect on the mother or the babe." Doronrîn looked mildly shocked, and Ioreth tilted her head to one side. "Do Elf women not suffer from the morning sickness?" she asked. 

"None that I have attended has ever complained of it," Doronrîn answered. 

"I suppose," the Queen said, "that I am afflicted because I am not fully an Elf."

"That is the likely answer," Doronrîn said. Her eyes flickered from Ioreth to the Queen and back again uncertainly, as if they both shared in a joke which she did not understand. "If you are certain that this ailment causes no lasting harm?"

"I am," Ioreth said.

"Then we shall continue the examination." Doronrîn nodded calmly to Ioreth, and Ioreth was sure she saw a new glimmer of respect in the Elf's eyes.

In short order, they examined every inch of the Queen's body. Doronrîn pronounced the Queen fit and healthy, though given to strange mortal afflictions. The pregnancy seemed to have settled firmly, and both Doronrîn and Ioreth were of the opinion that the Queen's body was not about to reject the new life within.

"I believe, my Lady," Ioreth said, "that the time is ripe to announce the impending arrival of the child to the people of this City."

"I will speak to my husband," the Queen replied. "The announcement will be arranged within the week."

"They will be happy to hear it," Ioreth said. "It has been far too long since the Citadel was blessed with a babe. It would have been Faramir, and that so long ago. . . I can still hear his little footsteps as he pattered around . . . " Ioreth lost herself in happy reverie. Doronrîn looked as though she were trying mightily to contain her horror at the cheerful discussion of the Prince of Ithilien in clouts, and the Queen actually giggled. She sounded merrier than she had since her first twinges of morning sickness, and Ioreth relaxed inwardly, quite glad now that Doronrîn had arrived.


	3. Nova! Nova!

****

3. Nova! Nova!

Precisely at noon the next day, Aragorn stepped out onto a terrace overlooking the public plaza at the Citadel. Arwen glided into place beside him. She had dressed up for the occasion in a loose, flowing gown of imported Harad silk, its cheerful rose color enhancing the blush in her cheeks. Aragorn had heard men speak of the way their wives glowed when expecting a child, but he had never quite believed it until now. Arwen did not glow, at least not yet, but Aragorn could certainly see how her beauty might develop into a glow in the months to come.

He hoped the people of the White City could see it as well. Thousands of them crowded the plaza, farmers and merchants and nobles, all waiting to hear the special announcement that the King's criers had promised. The appearance of the King and Queen on the terrace prompted a flurry of last-minute fidgeting and jostling and hoisting of small children onto shoulders. When the activity below had settled down, Aragorn stepped to the rail of the terrace and took a deep breath.

"Good folk of Minas Tirith," he began. "I would share with you some most important news. An event has taken place which will forever change the House of Telcontar." Aragorn paused, and the crowd held its breath. "Your Queen, Arwen Undómiel, is with child and will be a mother this coming winter."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the crowd let loose a roar of surprise and approval. Aragorn motioned to Arwen, and she stepped forward, causing the crowd below to cheer even louder. She blushed and dipped her head, acknowledging the cheers. As they began to die down, Arwen raised her head and smiled down at the people below.

"I thank you for your well wishes, people of Minas Tirith," she said. "I have no doubt that if such wishes await him, the child will be strong and healthy." The crowd cheered its approval, and Arwen withdrew, smiling warmly all the time. Aragorn laid a hand on her shoulder, and the King and Queen retired from the terrace to the small sitting room within.

"They love you nearly as much as I do," Aragorn observed. "They send enough good wishes to protect you and a host of new children."

As it turned out, the citizens of Minas Tirith sent more than just their good wishes. The public scribes seemed to have been deluged with business as short letters began to pour into the Citadel addressed to the Queen. Most were notes of congratulations, though not a few contained advice from older women concerning childbirth and the raising of children. Arwen and her maidens derived much pleasure from these letters, reading bits of them out loud to each other, laughing at the anecdotes offered as evidence or studying the more practical bits of advice with reverent care.

"Here," Aragorn said with a smile, dropping five new letters and a small box into Arwen's lap. "Yet more advice from the sagest mother hens of all Gondor has arrived for you."

Arwen opened the box eagerly and looked inside. Immediately, she let out a startlingly loud shriek and dropped it to the floor. A horrible dead, dried lizard fell out and lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with cold, lifeless eyes. The maidens came running to soothe the Queen, and Doronrîn and Ioreth appeared at the door. 

"What is the matter?" Doronrîn asked.

"That -- that thing!" Arwen gasped, pointing to the lizard. "It was sent to me in a box!"

Doronrîn knelt down and examined the dead lizard. "Who would do such a thing?" she wondered, puzzled and suspicious. Ioreth bent down, looked at the lizard and laughed.

"You have nothing to fear, my Lady," she chuckled. "This is no insult; rather, it is an old charm from Lebennin. There, it is believed that the lizard, worn on a thong around the waist of the mother-to-be, will protect her from evil. See," she said, holding up a scrap of leather, "here is the thong to wear it on."

Arwen and Aragorn and Doronrîn stared at Ioreth. Arwen found her voice first.

"Oh," she said. "It is . . . a kind gesture, I think, though most certainly unexpected."

"Perhaps we should arrange a royal visit to Lebennin while the weather remains clement," Aragorn mused. "The better for a grateful Queen to display her new luck-ornament." He winked at Arwen, who shot him a mock glare through narrowed eyes.

Doronrîn sighed. "I fear I shall never understand the ways of Men," she said dubiously.

Arwen was especially glad of the letters offering advice. Many of the women of Minas Tirith had had experience with morning sickness and had offered various home remedies for the condition. Arwen tried several and discovered that a small piece of candied ginger root quelled the nausea most effectively. She had saved the letters carefully in a wooden box, and took them out to reread whenever she felt nervous.

Her nocturnal visits to the Archive decreased in frequency, although sometimes Aragorn would still wake in the middle of the night to find himself alone in the great bed. He no longer feared for Arwen now that he knew that Halandir would sit up for her, and when he woke alone now, he would roll over and return to sleep.

One night, Halandir's curiosity got the better of him. He set his book down on his bench and quietly slipped into the Archive, coughing discreetly to alert the Queen to his presence. She looked up sharply from a pile of books and old sheets of parchment, then smiled wanly at him.

"Be welcome in your own realm, Master Archivist," she said.

Halandir could feel the blush creeping up from his neck. "Forgive my intrusion, my Lady. I -- I only wished to know what it was that my Lady sought here. I thought that I might be able to be of assistance, perhaps."

The Queen sighed. "I seek a text that does not exist," she told him. "I have searched and searched for such a text, and I think I must admit defeat."

"What manner of text do you seek?"

"I seek a healers' text that would treat with matters specific to women."

"Specific to women, my Lady?"

"Yes." The Queen frowned a little. "I wish to read about matters relating to childbirth, but there are no texts to be found on that subject. There is much to read about disease and healing the wounds of battle, but I can find nothing written about childbirth."

"Ah." Halandir eased himself into a chair across from the Queen. This conversation would require a certain amount of diplomacy, and it was not a topic he was at all comfortable talking about, but he would do his best. "I had always understood that women did not need to learn such matters from books," he ventured. "My own wife, may she rest in peace, gave birth to our children without studying beforehand."

"Perhaps the daughters of Men may know instinctively what to do and what to expect, but I do not."

"The daughters of Men are not so wise as my Lady would credit them," Halandir said. "I imagine that they learn from one another. Most of them probably learn from their mothers."

The Queen's eyes shone liquid in the candlelight. "My mother departed these shores long before you were born, Master Archivist."

"Oh. I am sorry for your loss." He had not known, and the discovery pained him. "Is there no one my Lady may confide in? A midwife, perhaps?"

"I should tell Mistress Ioreth and Lady Doronrîn more of my thoughts," the Queen admitted. "But there never seems to be a way to broach the subject." She laid her hand on a small wooden box at her side. "Many of the women of this city have sent messages with advice. I cannot adequately express my gratitude for these messages. I wish that all of their words of wisdom could be bound together and kept for other women in my position without mothers to guide them."

"My Lady is most kind to think of the distress of others even in the depths of her own need," Halandir said gently. "I believe that, were my Lady to gather together the wisdom she has been given, I could bind the text and preserve it for generations to come."

The Queen gave Halandir a wide, beautiful smile. "That would be a regal gift to a Queen," she said. "I thank you for this offer, and I shall begin to compile this wisdom tomorrow." She stood and began to gather the scattered books and scrolls together.

"Leave them," Halandir said. "I will return them to their places. I would wish my Lady a pleasant rest."

"Thank you, Master Archivist," the Queen said. "You have eased my heart greatly this night, though you did not have to do so."

"I am ever at my Lady's service." Halandir bowed deeply, and the Queen slipped out of the Archive, closing the door silently behind her.

"Push! Push! Do not stop! Push!" Ioreth chanted. Doronrîn knelt beside the mother-to-be, supporting her as she squatted over the clean linens on the bed. The laboring woman's face was red and twisted with effort. At Ioreth's encouragement, she gritted her teeth and bore down hard once more. 

Doronrîn had asked to witness a birth among the Men of the city, as she wished to observe how the Secondborn handled the event. She was surprised at the amount of time that the labor had already consumed, and she wondered how it was that the daughters of Men could bear the pains of labor for so long. Although their bodies were frail compared to those of the Elves, and their eyes and ears dull, Doronrîn had to admit that the stamina of the laboring Secondborn women was something to be admired.

"One more time!" Ioreth sang. "Push! Push hard, mother!" The woman screwed up her face, grasped Ioreth's and Doronrîn's shoulders and pushed. With a long, slithery squish, the infant slid free of its mother into Ioreth's waiting hands. Exhausted, the woman sat back on her bed as Ioreth laid the squalling baby on her stomach.

"See your child, Mistress," she said proudly. "You have worked hard, and you have a fine son as a reward."

"I shall name him Falborn," the woman said dreamily, "after my father." She hummed softly as she counted the baby's fingers. Ioreth discreetly delivered the afterbirth, and then with deft fingers, she knotted thread about the cord and cut it with a little knife.

"Lady Doronrîn," she said. "If I may be so bold as to ask it of you, will you take young Falborn and bathe him in the basin which is behind you and wrap him in a warm blanket?"

"Of course." Doronrîn reached over to the new mother. "If I may, mistress?" The woman gathered the baby up and laid him in Doronrîn's arms. Doronrîn was shocked at the weight of the infant. "Sweet Elbereth, he is enormous!" she gasped.

"What? Nay," Ioreth said absently. "He is of a perfect size for a newborn, neither too large nor too small."

"Are all the children of Men so large at birth?" Doronrîn asked as she carefully wiped the baby with a dampened rag. The sheer size of the child would certainly explain the length of time it had taken to give birth to him. Not wishing to worry the new mother, Doronrîn bit her lip as she finished cleaning the baby, then carefully returned him with a gentle smile. "He is beautiful," she said kindly.

"Did you hear that, Falborn?" the mother asked her child sleepily. "One of the Fair Folk says you are beautiful. And if an Elf says it, then it must be so." Mother and child contentedly dropped off to sleep. 

Doronrîn kept her silence as she helped Ioreth clean the birthing area, and without a word she took the afterbirth to the garden to bury it while Ioreth sought out the new father to inform him of his status. It was only after both midwives had washed themselves and were returning to the Houses of Healing that Doronrîn spoke.

"You did not answer my question," she said gently.

"Oh? Which question was that?"

"I wished to know if all the children of Men were born as large as that one."

Ioreth stopped walking and thought back on the many children she had ushered into the world. She could sense that the Elf lady's question had implications beyond a simple request for information, and she was not looking forward to them. "That baby was neither large nor small," she said at last. "I have caught larger ones, to be sure, and a few that were smaller. I am glad of this child's size, for the small ones do not live as long, and are sickly and weak for many years afterward."

"Oh," Doronrîn said, trying and failing to keep the concern out of her voice.

"How big are newborn Elves?" Ioreth asked. 

"They are as long as young Falborn," Doronrîn said, "but they are not as broad; I would guess that Falborn weighs a quarter again as much as an Elven infant. My own were much smaller than Falborn at birth."

Ioreth stopped walking and looked Doronrîn up and down. "Yes," she said. "You are slender, like the other Elves I have encountered. The Queen's hips are slender as well. I can see that both you and she would have an easier time with smaller babes. Perhaps the Queen's child will take after its mother."

"But the King is a Man both tall and broad," Doronrîn said. "It is likely he would sire larger children than would an Elf."

"Yes," Ioreth admitted. "That is very likely. I suppose we will not know until it is close to the Queen's time."

The two midwives began walking again. They returned to the Citadel in pensive silence, each trying to remember her most successful techniques for delivering a mother of an overly large child.

"What news, Lord Peredur?" Aragorn asked. The noble from Dol Amroth bowed at the door to the throne room, then approached the royal dais with a letter in hand. 

"A message is newly arrived from Ithilien," he said. "It seems that there is a caravan of Haradaic traders and nobles who would seek to enter an agreement with Gondor. They are camped not far from the residence of Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn. Lord Faramir writes that the leader of the caravan is none other than the Lord of Harad himself. Lord Faramir has met with him and believes him to be in good faith. He entreats my Lord to travel to Ithilien to meet with the Haradrim, hear their proposals, and inspect the goods they have to offer." 

Aragorn took the letter from Peredur's outstretched hand and read it through. From Faramir's brief description, the trading goods seemed intriguing enough to be worth at least an investigation. He trusted Faramir's instincts about the intentions of the Haradrim, as his Steward had always had a knack for judging people accurately. The prospect of this short journey was appealing. And, Aragorn admitted to himself, it would be a good excuse for Arwen to travel as well. Now that the trauma of the initial months of her pregnancy was receding, Arwen was growing restless. He did not know when or if women needed to be confined as pregnancy progressed. Better to take Arwen traveling now, lest the opportunity vanish. He looked up at Peredur and nodded.

"Please send a message back to Ithilien to Lord Faramir. Tell him that the Queen and I will set forth in two days at the latest. We will hear what these Haradrim have to say and see what they offer us. Perhaps this will be an enriching experience for all concerned."

"Very well, my Lord. I shall send out a rider within the hour." Peredur clicked his heels together, bowed, and left.

Aragorn spent the next hour making arrangements for proxies to carry out his administrative duties while he was away. There were a few lords in the Citadel, some of them natives of Gondor and some of the ranks of the Dúnedain, whom he had entrusted with the power to act in his name on the occasions that he chose to travel through his kingdom. This delegation had been Arwen's idea, enabling him to enjoy the old thrill of travel while at the same time forging a closer relationship between the scattered folk of Gondor and the Crown. The ability to make these short trips had brought him great pleasure, and he felt that it had improved the cohesion of Gondor. Now, he hoped that Arwen would at last be able to derive some enjoyment from a royal journey as well.

When his schedule was properly juggled and pages dispatched to notify the relevant proxy lords, Aragorn set out to find Arwen and inform her of the chance to travel. He noted that the day was warm and sunny and decided to look first in the gardens.

Sure enough, his instincts proved correct. Arwen was in her personal garden, in a simple linen smock, weeding a patch of sweet-smelling medicinal herbs. Her experimental beds of _athelas_ had already been tended, as the large pail of pulled weeds near it testified. Although he entered as quietly as he could, her sensitive ears caught him coming as always, and she turned to favor him with a wide, sweet smile from underneath the wide brim of her straw bonnet. Her smile had not been so sweet for months, and Aragorn's heart sang again with love for his wife.

"You look well," he said. "It is good to see the roses return to your cheeks. How goes it with you, my love?"

"I am much improved lately." Arwen stood and brushed the loose dirt from her smock. "The folk of your realm are not only kind, but clever as well. I have received much advice from the women of Minas Tirith that has bolstered both my health and my spirits."

"I shall have to find some way to thank them. Do your spirits feel improved enough to leave the Citadel for a week?"

"A journey?" Arwen's eyes sparkled. "What is the occasion?"

"I have received word from Faramir that there is a trading caravan of Haradrim in Ithilien who wish to negotiate with Gondor," Aragorn explained. "As the Lord of Harad himself leads this caravan, I had thought to make this a full royal visit from both the King and the Queen. It may be that the King will require the eyes of the Queen to aid him in judging the quality of the goods offered in trade. And perhaps there is important diplomatic business that the Queen must transact with the Princess of Ithilien as well?"

"There is indeed," Arwen said merrily. 

"Then we shall leave tomorrow morning at dawn," Aragorn told her. "Provided our estimable midwives have no objections, of course."

"I think it is perfectly safe for the Queen to travel," Ioreth assured the King. Behind her, she could sense Doronrîn tensing to speak. Quickly, she stepped on the Elf woman's foot and spoke over the resulting gasp of shock. "She will, of course, travel in a wagon."

"In a wagon?" the King asked.

"Expectant mothers do not ride horses," Ioreth said firmly. "Not unless they wish to miscarry most painfully."

"I will order the wagons to be made ready," the King said smoothly. "Are there no other objections?"

Ioreth stepped on Doronrîn's foot once more, and there were no objections from either midwife. The King smiled.

"Good. We leave on the morrow. I will see to our packing now."

The midwives curtsied and withdrew. Once in the corridor, Doronrîn opened her mouth, but Ioreth spoke first. "It is hardly the time to worry about the Queen," she said. "She is well settled in with the child now, and she will ride in a wagon. Ithilien is not so far away that there will be no chance of care for her, and it will do her good to be away from the City. Poor thing, the morning sickness did her no good at all, and I think a change is just the thing to bring her back to full bloom."

Doronrîn nodded. "Perhaps you are right," she said. "We must use our time wisely. Let us share all our knowledge of birthing and babes, that we may plan for the months ahead."


	4. Give Ear Unto My Story

****

4. Give Ear Unto My Story

The next day, Aragorn sat comfortably on a cushioned seat in a canopied wagon with Arwen, idly watching the scenery as the wagon trundled towards Ithilien. It was not his favorite mode of travel, but he would rather have Arwen by his side than make the swifter journey on horseback without her. Arwen bent contentedly over a small lap desk, writing diligently.

"What do you write?" Aragorn asked.

"It is a project suggested by Halandir," Arwen answered. "I do not think the time has come to speak further of it yet."

"You are full of mystery of late."

Arwen smiled apologetically at him. "I am sorry. I give you my word that I will speak of this project with you. It is likely that I will speak of it so much that you will wish you had never asked of it to begin with. But there are others with whom I would speak first."

"Then I will wait," Aragorn said with exaggerated patience. Arwen laughed and laid her manuscript away in the chamber of the lap desk.

"That is enough for now, in any event," she said. "The day is warm and scented, and the cushions are soft, and my love sits beside me. I will soak in the sun and the air and be content." She set the lap desk on the floor of the wagon and lay down across the seat with her head in Aragorn's lap. Aragorn caressed her silky dark hair and laid one hand on the swell of her belly.

"There is our child," he murmured. "He is dreaming pleasant dreams as he grows. I wonder if he feels the warmth of the day."

"I hope he feels the sun," Arwen said. "He will be born in the cold of winter, and it will be long before he knows the warmth of the sun on his skin."

"It is strange to think that he is here with us, and yet we know nothing of him."

"He is traveling to meet us, even as we are traveling to Ithilien," Arwen said drowsily. "May his journey be as pleasant as this one."

The wagon creaked slowly along the road. Aragorn listened to the song of the cicadas as he caressed his wife and his unborn child. The King and Queen of Gondor and Arnor relaxed and let the warmth and contentedness of the moment lull them into a pleasant doze.

They reached Ithilien just as the sun sank beneath the horizon in a sea of red and purple. Faramir's grooms took the wagon to the carriage house to unhitch the horses as a page escorted the royal couple to the manor house. A herald blew a short blast on a trumpet to announce their arrival, and the guards at the door bowed as Aragorn and Arwen entered the reception hall of the manor. 

"Welcome, my Lord! Welcome, my Lady!" Faramir strode across the room to embrace Aragorn and place a delicate kiss on Arwen's knuckles.

"Faramir," Aragorn greeted his Steward. "It has been too long."

"Indeed it has."

"They're here, Mama! They're here!" Faramir and Éowyn's six-year-old son Elboron trotted across the room followed by Éowyn, who carried his toddler sister Olwyn. Faramir smiled and laid a hand on his son's shoulder.

"That is the King," he said. "How does a polite little boy greet a King?"

Elboron pointed his toe and bowed. "How do you do, my Lord King," he chanted.

"Very well, young Master Elboron," Aragorn answered. Elboron grinned and turned to Arwen. He inspected her for a moment, his hands behind his back.

"Are you an Elf?" he asked.

"I am mostly an Elf," Arwen answered gravely, but Aragorn could see a twinkle in her eyes. Elboron turned excitedly to Éowyn.

"She's an Elf, Mama!" he cried. "She's an Elf, just like Legolas!"

"I can see that, Elboron," Éowyn said. She nodded to Aragorn, unable to make a full curtsey with the child in her arms. "My Lord Aragorn, it is a pleasure to receive you. My Lady Arwen, your presence is most delightful."

"I am happy to see you again, Éowyn," Arwen said. She tilted her head to look at Éowyn's small daughter. "And this must be Olwyn."

"Yes, indeed," Éowyn said. "Olwyn, can you greet the King and Queen? Can you say hello?" Olwyn buried her face in Éowyn's shoulder, then twisted a little to peer suspiciously at Aragorn and Arwen. "I think she is shy right now," Éowyn said. "She will warm to you in time, no doubt."

"She is very beautiful," Arwen said. Éowyn beamed, every inch the proud mother.

"Come," Faramir said. "We must not keep our royal guests waiting. Surely you are tired from your long journey. Your rooms have been prepared, and after you have washed the dust of the road away, a hot supper awaits you."

"Lead on," Aragorn said happily. As a liveried servant ushered them up the stairs, Arwen turned back. Olwyn reached out her hand and waved a tiny wave at Arwen. Arwen smiled and waved back before ascending the stairs to the guest quarters.

Faramir told the full tale of the Haradrim later that evening as they dined. "You do not see it at the moment, but there is a large caravan train camped over the ridge. They appeared three days ago and requested a parley with the lord of the land. When I came to speak with them, their messenger announced that they had come to negotiate a trade agreement with Gondor."

"That is strange," Aragorn said. "We already have a trade agreement with Harad. We exchange goods at the trading post near the Crossings of Poros. We offer surplus grain for silk and oranges. That trading post has been active for many years."

"And such did I tell the messenger," Faramir agreed. "However, it seems that they want something different. They wish to expand the trade agreement and lessen the guard on the border. They wish more ports of access in which to sell their goods."

"I believe they wish an arrangement similar to the one between Gondor and Rohan," Éowyn put in.

"That would be difficult to arrange," Aragorn remarked. "Rohan has always been the friend and ally of Gondor, whereas Harad recently took up arms in the cause of Sauron."

"I, too, found such a request difficult to imagine," Faramir said. "But these traders seem peaceful enough, and so, with your leave, I had thought at least to meet with them and begin discussions."

"That is fair enough," Aragorn decided. "I see no harm that can come from talking. We will meet tomorrow, then. As Prince of this land, you, Faramir, will naturally be present. Know you if Gondor will be the only power in this land to treat with the Haradrim?"

Faramir gave the delicate shrug that always reminded Aragorn of Ecthelion. "I sent a message to the Elves. Whether or not they appear is their own business. I do not know what they will decide."

"I cannot aid you there," Aragorn said. "Were the lord of the Elves of Ithilien Thranduil and not Legolas, I would have no difficulty in guessing their decision. But in truth, I cannot tell you what Legolas might think in this matter."

"Well, we will find out tomorrow, then," Faramir said. "I have scheduled the negotiations to begin at the third hour after sunrise."

"In that case, I will take my leave of you early," Aragorn said. "There is much that I would prepare for such a meeting." The company rose and made their way to their rooms to retire for the night.

Aragorn met Faramir in the council chambers shortly before the third hour after sunrise the next morning. Faramir was reading over a letter. When Aragorn arrived, he pushed it across the table. "The Elves have sent their reply."

Aragorn picked up the letter, which was written in Legolas's careful script. It said that the Elves of Ithilien had little interest in a trading relationship with Harad, but that they would honor any alliances that Gondor wished to make with Harad and requested a message if any such alliances were to be forged. Aragorn nodded as he came to the end of the letter, which consisted of personal greetings to the King and Queen and to the Prince and Princess of Ithilien. "He is his father's son."

"Have you met Thranduil?" Faramir asked.

"I have. He is a formidable character."

"Perhaps you might tell me some tales of an evening?"

"Perhaps." The trumpets of the heralds blared. Aragorn rose and bade Faramir do the same. "And so it begins. Harad is arrived, and Gondor will welcome her."

Arwen had joined Éowyn in the morning chamber, where they sipped at cups of peppermint tea and watched Olwyn play in a patch of sunshine. "I am glad that you are here," Éowyn said. "You are a perfect excuse not to join the ladies of the town in making soap and candles."

Arwen laughed, remembering many summer days spent over great smelly kettles of steaming fat in Imladris. "I am happy to provide you with such an excuse, then."

Just then, Elboron ran into the room. "Mama, Mama!" he cried, dropping a slate in Éowyn's lap. "Look! I can write my name!"

Éowyn examined the slate. "That is very nice, Elboron. Will you greet the Queen politely?"

Elboron bobbed a bow. "Hello, Elf Queen!"

Arwen rose from her seat and dropped an elegant curtsey. "Hello, young Master Elboron."

Elboron studied Arwen for a moment. "You've got a bump," he announced. Arwen hid a smile behind her hand. Éowyn turned bright red and glared at her son.

"Elboron! Did I not tell you that it is rude to make personal remarks like that? You will apologize to the Queen."

"Sorry," Elboron chirped quickly. "But you do have one," he added.

Arwen knelt down in front of him. "Do you know what the bump is?" she asked. Elboron shook his head. "It is a baby," Arwen told him. "It is a baby that has not yet been born."

"Mama had a bump before Olwyn was born. But it was a much bigger bump."

"Mine will grow, I assure you. It will be some months before this baby is born."

"And that is enough from you," Éowyn told Elboron. "Go back to your schoolroom and practice your writing. See if you can write Olwyn's name."

"Yes, Mama." Elboron kissed his sister, retrieved his slate, and trotted out of the morning chamber.

"I do apologize for him," Éowyn said. "He has been very curious about you for several days."

"It is no matter," Arwen replied. "I will have my own to worry about soon enough."

"When do you expect your child to arrive?"

Arwen sat silent for a moment. She looked out the window at the sunny garden with its white paths and slender fruit trees. Then she dropped her head and stared at her hands twisting in her lap. "I do not know exactly," she admitted. "The midwives tell me that it will be in the winter, but they cannot say more precisely. There have been few enough children born to Elves and Men together that none can say quite what I should expect."

Éowyn studied her friend for a moment. "You seem troubled by this pregnancy," she observed. Arwen looked sharply at her, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. "Will you share your worries?" Éowyn asked.

Arwen turned away and took two deep, shuddery breaths, trying to calm herself. From her patch of sunlight on the floor, Olwyn seemed to sense that all was not well in the morning chamber. She climbed to her feet and toddled unsteadily towards Arwen, fetching up against her knees. Arwen looked down into Olwyn's large, worried eyes and felt her self-control dissolve. Éowyn pulled her daughter onto her lap as Arwen bent over and began to weep.

Aragorn kept his face carefully expressionless as he gazed across the table at Ghayur, the self-proclaimed leader of all Harad. "Tell me," he said evenly, "why it is that I should believe your protestations of eternal friendship with Gondor. It was but ten years past that the tribes of Harad were united under the leadership of Sauron with the intent to destroy Gondor."

Ghayur sat back in his chair. "A just question, O King," he said smoothly. "Know that, though I sit here before your majesty today as the ruler of all Harad, it was not always thus. Ten years before this day, Maruf the Sea-Born ruled the land that today is my domain. The intentions of Maruf regarding Gondor were indeed not peaceful. But in the fullness of time, power has changed hands. Today, it is I who rule the Haradrim, and I wish to ally my land with the Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor."

"When you say that power has changed hands. . . " Faramir began.

"I mean that Maruf the Sea-Born met with a most unfortunate accident some months past," Ghayur said.

"An unfortunate accident," Faramir mused. "No doubt a most convenient accident for one as highly placed as yourself."

"Indeed."

"I will not ask you how convenient this accident was," Aragorn said, "nor whether or not certain arrangements might have been made that enhanced its convenience. Should such a discussion become necessary, I will be more than happy to examine the topic then. But now I must ask you, Ghayur, what assurances you can provide us now that your intentions of alliance are genuine and in good faith."

"I am afraid," Ghayur said, "that I can give you no better assurance than my word of honor. And the honor of the Haradrim is a serious thing indeed. I do not make this pledge lightly."

Aragorn shot a glance at Faramir, but the Prince of Ithilien was no more versed in the honor of the Haradrim than he. This was a decision that Aragorn would have to make on his own. He nodded to Ghayur. "Very well," he said. "I will trust that you do not mean ill for now. But I will be wary until I become more familiar with your people and your ways."

"I would expect no less of you," Ghayur said with a smile that showed an astonishing display of teeth.

"Good. Now then, let us begin to discuss our currently existing trade agreement."

Éowyn let Arwen cry for a few minutes, stroking her hair and rubbing her back lightly. Gradually, Arwen's weeping calmed into sniffles, and the Queen sat up, red-eyed and damp. Éowyn fished in a pocket of her undergown and found a handkerchief, which she handed to Arwen. "Here," she said. "Dry your tears. Shall we take a walk in the herb garden? It is a pleasant day, and I believe that the fresh air would do you good."

Arwen nodded. "Thank you," she said as she wiped at her eyes. The two ladies rose and, dropping Olwyn off with a maid in the nursery, went outside to the herb garden. Éowyn led Arwen to a small well and drew a bucket of water.

"You may wash your face here," she suggested. "I think the cool water will feel good to your swollen nose." Arwen managed a little laugh as she dipped the handkerchief in the bucket. "Now," Éowyn went on, "I think we should talk."

"Rarely is an Elf at a loss for words, but I confess that I do not know where to begin," Arwen said.

"Then perhaps I can begin for you. I think that you are less than ecstatic with happiness over your pregnancy. I think that, though you will not admit it even to yourself, you are anxious about becoming a mother and apprehensive about the labor of childbirth. I would even wager that you feel yourself all alone in this matter. Do I guess correctly?"

"You do," Arwen said. "Indeed, it is as though you could read my thoughts."

"It is not difficult," Éowyn admitted. "I felt much the same when I carried Elboron. They are not uncommon thoughts, particularly in a lady who has lost her mother and has little of the company of women."

"I have two fine midwives, and a devoted company of maidens," Arwen protested.

"Maidens!" Éowyn laughed. "Maidens are of no use to you in your present need. And as for your midwives . . . one is Mistress Ioreth, whom I remember to be a simple woman, full of love and wisdom, but likely to become overly deferential in the presence of a Queen."

"She is that."

"And your other midwife would be the Lady Doronrîn," Éowyn went on. "She spent a night here with her company when she set out for Minas Tirith. She struck me as competent, certainly, but overpowering."

Arwen's eyes darted to the left and to the right. "I will confess this to you," she said, "but you may not breathe a word of it to anyone, and most certainly not to my husband. When I am in the presence of the Lady Doronrîn, I feel as though I were a very small child still learning my lessons."

"Oh!" Éowyn laughed. "Exactly! That is precisely what I thought when I met her! But if she can reduce even the Queen of Elves and Men to such a state, then I feel myself redeemed." Her expression softened, and she took Arwen's hand. "It is no wonder that you feel yourself lost and alone. You and the King have taken every precaution to care for the child to be, but none for the mother. We have a few days together while the lords discuss matters of trade. You and I will spend them with my children, that you may accustom yourself to the presence of little ones, and we will thoroughly discuss matters of childbirth. And when the time of your confinement draws near, I will arrange to come to Minas Tirith and assist you, should you so wish."

Arwen smiled. "I do so wish," she said gratefully. "Already you comfort me, Éowyn of Ithilien. The burden is much eased now that I must not bear it alone."

"I had heard that you were wise," Éowyn said cheekily, "and now I know that it is true." She stepped back and regarded Arwen critically for a moment. "I am slightly taller than you," she said, "and perhaps a bit broader of shoulder, but not so much as to matter. Come, let us go to my chambers. I believe I still have some of the special gowns that I wore during the last weeks of my pregnancies. They are cut especially to accommodate what Elboron calls the 'bump.' I will lend you some of mine, for I do not anticipate needing them before you will. They are experienced gowns and have seen two babes born and survive their first year; perhaps their virtue will pass on to you."

"Many thanks," Arwen said. "You are a true friend, and I will not forget this kindness." With that, the two women strode off back to the manor house.


	5. Wheel In A Wheel

****

5. Wheel In A Wheel

A feast had been planned for that evening to mark the beginning of the negotiations. One hour before sundown, Aragorn announced a recess with the understanding that the talks would continue the next morning. The officers at the negotiating table rose and bowed formally, then left to make their separate preparations for the feast. 

"I am still not satisfied with Ghayur's explanation of his sudden rise to power," Faramir said to Aragorn after the Haradrim had left. "There is too much of that tale left untold, and I am not convinced of his legitimacy to treat with us."

"Nevertheless, it is the only tale we have at the moment," Aragorn replied. "For all that it is incomplete, I believe that we find ourselves in as good a position as may be expected. Ghayur is aware of our distrust. If he is honest, he will find a way to prove his honesty to our satisfaction."

"And if he is not?"

"Then he cannot count on our unwitting belief in his lies," Aragorn said. "He knows that we are on guard against deceptions; therefore, if he is not honest, he will have to think of new ways to deceive us, and that may buy us some time to treat fairly with him and his folk."

"And if you discover that his command is not legitimate? A man who would assassinate his own superior may have few qualms about an attempt on a foreign ruler."

Aragorn shrugged. "We are not required to amend our trading agreement," he said. "Nor are we bound to retain it at all. By opening negotiations, all avenues have been thrown open to us, and I will take the one I deem fittest when all is said and done."

Faramir nodded. "Very well," he said. "As long as we both agree to remain on our guard with our guest, I am satisfied."

"Then let us go and refresh ourselves," Aragorn suggested. "We will put this long day behind us and enjoy the comforts of your household." With that, the two lords left the negotiation chamber behind.

Éowyn had arranged some time for light conversation before the start of the feast. Aragorn could smell the dishes as they were brought, one by one, from the kitchens to the servery, and he found that the appetizing scents stimulated his mind. He was in the midst of a sparkling chat with Ghayur when the chief of the Haradrim suddenly fell silent and gazed past Aragorn. Aragorn turned to discover what had captured Ghayur's interest, and saw Arwen, resplendent in a gown he had never seen before.

The fabric of the underdress was light in weight and flowed gracefully over Arwen's gently swelling figure, while the sky-blue of the surcoat complemented her rosy cheeks and dark hair. The dress did not so much conceal her pregnancy as frame it. Aragorn was momentarily stunned by the transformation. He was vaguely aware that women's gowns were constructed in complicated ways so as to flatter one figure or another, but he had never been able to understand how such tailoring worked. Now, for the first time, he began to see the effect that a change in clothing design could have.

Freed from the increasingly tight bodices of her everyday gowns, Arwen looked relaxed and graceful. She carried herself with ease and confidence, and at last Aragorn could see his wife glow. "Arwen," he said, collecting himself. "May I present Lord Ghayur of Harad. Lord Ghayur, the Lady Arwen, Queen of Gondor and Arnor."

Ghayur bowed low. "A fairer lady has never walked the earth," he said. "May I be permitted, O jewel of the evening sky, to extol your beauty even unto the farthest reaches of the desert. The voices of wind, water and the stars will sing the praises of my Lady and call good fortune upon the child to be."

Aragorn was somewhat taken aback by Ghayur's speech, but Arwen accepted it in stride. "I thank you, Ghayur, lord of the Haradrim," she said. "Your speech is fair, and I thank you for your words over my child. I am sure he will arrive the stronger for it."

Ghayur turned to Aragorn. "Your lady does honor to your house, O Elf-stone of the North," he said. "If I might beg of you the favor of sitting at her right hand at the feast, all those of my blood would forever be in your debt."

Aragorn looked at Arwen, who nodded serenely. He turned back to Ghayur. "Very well," he said. "I will grant you this favor as a token of goodwill between our peoples." Ghayur bowed low.

Several paces away, Faramir and Éowyn watched the exchange. Faramir had had to look twice when Arwen made her entrance, but as he watched Arwen move, a slow smile spread over his face. "That is one of your gowns, is it not?" he asked Éowyn.

"Aye, husband," she replied. "It is. She had no gowns of her own cut to accommodate a child, and, as I have no use for mine at the moment, I lent her those that I thought would fit her. This one suits her especially well, I think."

"Indeed." Faramir watched the royal couple for a moment. "Ghayur is quite taken as well," he observed. 

"As well he ought to be," Éowyn said. "I do believe the Queen has been somewhat lonesome these past few months. It seems that the entire Citadel is so busy with preparations for the child that they have forgotten the mother."

"It has been long since there was a child born in the Citadel," Faramir observed. "Perhaps the staff may be forgiven their excitement."

"Perhaps," Éowyn said dismissively. "However, whether forgiven or no, the situation must be rectified. I believe I will journey to Minas Tirith this winter."

"We will discuss it later. For now, dinner has arrived." Faramir offered his arm to Éowyn. "The feast may begin. Will you accompany me to table, my lady?"

In the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, Doronrîn sat in a corner and attempted to work at a piece of embroidery. Her mind was elsewhere, however, and every few stitches she would pause, set the frame in her lap, and look around the room. Often, her eye alighted on Ioreth, who was singing snatches of old lays as she tied bunches of herbs to the drying lines. After some time, Ioreth paused in her work and looked at the Elf woman.

"All right," she said. "Begging your pardon, Lady Doronrîn, but your silence is unnerving. Will you tell me what troubles you?"

"Your pardon, Mistress Ioreth," Doronrîn said softly. "It was not my intention to disturb your work."

"No, I suppose it was not," Ioreth conceded. "You are silent enough over in that corner. But you look troubled. You frown a little, and your mind wanders from your embroidery. This does not seem to me to be the behavior of a calm and contented Elf."

"I am afraid that you have me there, Mistress Ioreth," Doronrîn said. "In truth, I have been thinking about the Queen. She is not fully an Elf, yet she is more slender than a daughter of Men. And she will deliver a child by a father who is both tall and broad. I do not like this situation, and I fear that I do not know enough about such births to be of use should an emergency arrive. Indeed, the lowest mule breeder knows more than I about such births."

"But surely there are records that you could study," Ioreth said.

"Alas, no. The art of midwifery is passed on among the Elves as it is among Men, taught to apprentices without benefit of text. And there have been few joinings of the two kindreds in history. I am sure that whatever precedent may have been set has not survived down the Ages of the world."

"Well, then, perhaps we must look closer to the present for an example. What of the lady mother of the Queen?" Ioreth suggested. "For if the Queen is the product of a mixed joining herself --"

Doronrîn stopped Ioreth with a look. "The Lady Celebrían no longer dwells on these shores," she said darkly. Then her expression lightened abruptly. "But you have given me an idea. Perhaps there are still some among the Queen's family remaining in Middle Earth who remember the time of her birth. I will write to Lord Celeborn and to the brethren Elladan and Elrohir. Perhaps they will have memories that may prove useful." She rose from her chair and strode into the master healer's office. Helping herself to a quill, ink, and a sheet of twice-scraped palimpsest, Doronrîn began to write in tiny, delicate characters.

Ioreth followed the Elf woman and watched her with some interest. "Is it the custom among Elves for men to attend a birth?" she asked.

"No," Doronrîn said. "It is not. However, within families, stories are often told. I hope that some tale of the Queen's birth was told to her brothers or her grandfather, though it is a faint hope indeed."

"Still, a faint hope is better than no hope at all." Ioreth watched as Doronrîn finished the letter, rolled it and tied it with a short scrap of twine from the ball used for tying herb bunches. "It is a long way to the north country," she said. "I will accompany you to the stables and show you the swiftest horses to bear your message away." 

Doronrîn rose. "Thank you, Mistress Ioreth," she said. "Lead the way."

The two women hurried down to the stables and called for a messenger. The master of the King's post-riders appeared. At first he was not willing to send his fastest rider away on such a long journey without the King's personal order, but when Ioreth explained the nature of the message, he relented.

"After all," he said, "I do not see how the King could object to a message concerning the continued health and safety of the Queen. Hi! Amaethon!" he called to a slender youth. "You are to deliver a message to Imladris. The ladies will advise you of the way."

Amaethon approached them and bowed low. "To Imladris, my ladies? That is a long journey. I beg a night and a day to prepare."

Ioreth and Doronrîn looked at each other. "You shall have your night and day," Doronrîn said. "Tomorrow, one hour after dawn, I will show you maps and tell you of the swiftest route."

"Do not trouble yourself about the length of the journey," the master of the post-riders said. "Consider the service you will be performing for your lady the Queen."

Amaethon bowed once more. "I am honored to do your bidding," he said. "I will meet you at the first hour after dawn tomorrow." He turned and strode off to prepare himself for the journey.

Doronrîn and Ioreth walked back to the Houses of Healing in silence. As they reached the gates, Ioreth sighed. "It is a great risk for a slender hope," she said.

"Still, it is better to have made the attempt, even if it should fail," Doronrîn answered. "This confinement will be hard enough; I do not wish to have left any avenue of aid unpursued when the Queen's time draws near."

"Whenever that time may be," Ioreth added.

The second day of the negotiations dragged endlessly. Faramir began to understand why Denethor had always returned from trade negotiations in a foul mood. The conversation revolved endlessly around Harad's reasons for wishing to expand the trade agreement. It seemed clear to Faramir that the Haradrim wanted something from Gondor and felt that a higher trade status was the way to obtain it, but somehow, neither he nor Aragorn seemed able to ask the questions that would force Ghayur to reveal exactly what he wished of Gondor.

At the moment, the point of discussion was Ghayur's request for free access to Gondor's seaports. He spent much time describing in flowery language the rare and exotic goods that would allegedly flow like water into Gondor if only they could be transported by sea. For his part, Aragorn ignored the offers of aromatic spices and fruits, strange birds and plants, and repeatedly demanded to know why access to the strategically crucial seaports was so vital to Ghayur's vision of a trade agreement when such goods could be transported just as easily by land.

One of Ghayur's lieutenants began shouting, and Faramir buried his head in his hands. He remembered a conversation he had had with Legolas once, during which Legolas had expressed his considerable distaste for the formal process of diplomacy.

"Both sides enter negotiations with a set number of things they wish to discuss," Legolas had said. "They begin with the first item on the list and shout at each other until they are thoroughly weary of the topic. The side that wearies first loses the point. They then proceed to the next topic and shout at each other about that. When all the points have been shouted through, the negotiations are closed, and both sides claim victory. It is a bewildering and exhausting process, and there are few who can see it through with any success. To my mind, it is far superior to conduct simple business with a neighboring ruler rather than to cloak it in the trappings of diplomacy."

Faramir had, naturally, defended the diplomatic process, and he and Legolas had pursued a friendly argument over the topic for several hours. Now, as full diplomacy raged around him, Faramir felt himself nearly ready to concede every point he had raised in that discussion.

"And I say again, the seaports of Gondor will remain closed to Harad until I am given tangible proof that Harad has utterly ended its friendship with the Corsairs of Umbar!" Aragorn said. 

"And how shall I prove this?" Ghayur countered. "Shall I produce a captain of the Corsairs to testify to the end of our association? But then the most estimable King of Gondor would say that, as I had convinced the captain to appear before him, I must still be secretly in alliance with him, and my proof would be for naught."

One of the captains of the Ithilien garrison opened his mouth to say something unpleasant to Ghayur, but before he could get a word out, Éowyn appeared in the door to the negotiation chamber and rang a small handbell.

"My lords," she said sweetly, "you have talked the morning away. Come, lay your differences aside for an hour and refresh yourselves. The midday meal awaits."

Faramir was pleased to see that he was not the only one who looked relieved at the interruption. The assembled lords rose to their feet, and Ghayur bowed first to Aragorn and then to Faramir. "My lords," he said pleasantly. "Let us now put aside our differences and refresh ourselves with the pleasures of the table and of the living jewels of the gardens. We may resume our debate in time."

"We will convene again in two hours' time," Aragorn announced, and the assembled lords trooped to the dining hall for a well-earned meal.

Éowyn and Arwen joined them at the table. Arwen wore another of the gowns Éowyn had lent her, this one a rich dark green with intricate knotted embroidery around the neckline. Aragorn seated himself beside her and helped himself to a spoonful of fresh peas before passing the dish to his wife. "How have you fared this morning?" he asked.

Arwen took a spoonful of the peas and passed the dish on to Ghayur, who was seated at her other side. "I have spent the morning in consultation with the Lady Éowyn. We have passed the morning most agreeably talking of matters of interest to women and mothers. I have bathed Olwyn and amused her with songs and tales. Éowyn has arranged to lend me those of her gowns suitable for mothers-to-be until the end of my confinement."

Aragorn gave her a puzzled frown. "Surely the House of Telcontar is not so poor that its lady must go begging for raiment."

"No," Arwen laughed. "This is a different matter. The loan of the gowns is temporary, but the gifts of wisdom and friendship that go with them are of far greater value. Indeed, I should thank you for having asked me to accompany you on this journey, for my visit with Éowyn has lightened my burden and provided solace and joy that I had not known was lacking before now."

"Then we have both profited," Aragorn said, "for your presence here lightens my heart during this difficult business."

"Your pardon, o great and glorious King," Ghayur put in. "The art of politics is ever a difficult business, but I do not wish to leave you and your lady with the thought that we of Harad are nothing more than difficult traders. When we have sated our hunger, will it please you to accompany me to our camping site? I have in my own tent an item that I now perceive to be of rare use to your lady in these northern climes. With your leave, I would present it to her as a gift."

Aragorn paused for a moment and looked to Arwen. He could see that her curiosity had been piqued, as had his own. However, he was not entirely willing to walk alone and unguarded into the camp of the Haradrim. He took a moment to consider the most polite way to frame his concerns.

"I will be happy to escort the Queen to your camping site," he said. "By your leave, I will also bring certain members of our negotiating party to observe that no bribery or secretive business is conducted."

Ghayur smiled broadly. "Bring your guards, King of Gondor," he said. "But I mean no harm to you or to your lady." With that, he rose from the table, gave a deep bow to his hosts, and left the manor.

Shortly thereafter, Aragorn and Arwen entered the camp of the Haradrim accompanied by two lieutenants of Faramir's household. Ghayur received them graciously, seated them on a long, low couch and offered small cups of strong, mint-flavored tea. Aragorn found the tea quite pleasant and wondered if the kitchens of the Citadel could reproduce the blend. Ghayur sat with them and made pleasant, if somewhat strained, conversation. When they had drunk their tea, he rose.

"You see?" he said. "You have not been harmed. Allow me to present my gift to the Queen of this realm, in the hopes that the child she bears will be both strong and wise." He gestured to his servants, who opened a trunk in the corner of the tent and brought forth a bolt of cloth, which they laid across Arwen's knees.

It was a dazzling white, light in weight, but with a drape almost as graceful as silk, and a texture as soft as well-worn linen. Arwen gently pulled the fabric and found that it was strong and tightly woven. Ghayur watched her examine it for a moment.

"It is made from the fibers of a plant that grows in our oases," he said. "It is called cotton, and its fibers can be spun into all sorts of textures. Cotton cloth may be made strong to rig sailing vessels, or soft to caress the delicate skin of a little child."

"It seems most versatile," Arwen said, stroking the smooth surface of the cloth. "This particular cloth is quite lovely."

"Then keep it, o jewel of the gloaming. It is yours to work with as you please. Know that the favor and devotion of Ghayur, Lord of all Harad, will follow you for a lifetime."

Aragorn was not sure that he approved of Ghayur's tone towards his wife, but he caught a warning glance from Arwen and kept his peace. Arwen smiled at Ghayur.

"I thank you, Lord Ghayur, both for your gracious gift of cotton and for your fair words to me. I will not forget them."

When Ghayur bowed in response, Aragorn felt a sudden stab of intuition. He was fairly sure that Ghayur himself meant no harm to Gondor, but he feared that the man's ultimate motives were far more complex and labyrinthine than he had originally suspected. There was a secret behind the expedition of the Haradrim that he had not yet uncovered, and he guessed that this secret was the missing information that would determine the wisdom of an alliance between Gondor and Harad. 

Faintly, they heard the clanging of a bell that signified that the refreshment period was over and it was once again time to resume negotiation. Aragorn handed the bolt of cotton cloth to one of the lieutenants and assisted Arwen to her feet. As the small party made its way back to the manor house, Aragorn began to rough out strategies for uncovering Ghayur's secret in his mind.


	6. The Warmer Gales

****

6. The Warmer Gales

After the lords had returned to their business, Arwen showed her gift to Éowyn. The princess of Ithilien exclaimed over the softness and listened intently as Arwen repeated Ghayur's description of its source.

"I wonder if such plants could be made to grow in Ithilien," Éowyn mused. "Perhaps, should our trade agreement be expanded, we could purchase seedlings and learn the way of their growth."

"Perhaps Legolas might be of assistance in that," Arwen suggested. "Such an undertaking would be much to his taste, I think."

"If it comes that far, I will be sure to ask," Éowyn said. "But for the moment, this is the cotton we have. Have you thought of what you wish to do with it?"

"I have," Arwen answered. "I wish to make garments for my child. He will be born in winter, and will require warm swaddling. If he wore this cloth next to his skin, then I could wrap him in warm outer clothing of wool without fearing that it would rub his skin painfully."

"That is a good use," Éowyn said. "If you are willing, we may start making the clothing today. We will use Elboron and Olwyn's baby robes as patterns. But you must promise me one thing."

"What is that?"

"I would see you derive enjoyment from this lovely stuff as well," Éowyn said. "Reserve enough of this cloth to make undergarments for yourself as well as for your child. For this was a gift given to you, and it is proper that you should have at least some of the pleasure of it."

Arwen nodded, fingering the soft, cool fabric once again. "I will do that," she said. "I will swaddle my child and myself in cotton of Harad, and we will be the happiest mother and child ever to walk Middle Earth."

"With the exception, no doubt, of all the cotton-wearing mothers and children in Harad," Éowyn pointed out.

"Then perhaps we will merely be the happiest mother and child in Gondor," Arwen laughed. 

"Agreed. But first, we must make the garments." Éowyn rewound the bolt, handed it to Arwen and headed down the hall to a small storage chamber. "Now, where did I store the baby robes?"

"It comes to this," Faramir said. "The land of Ithilien is at a cross-roads. Do not think that I underestimate this fact. For two days, I have heard nothing save tales of the marvelous and wonderful new goods that will flow like water through Gondor should we expand our trading pact. I would know the price we would pay for such riches, though. I fear that we will pay with a portion of our tactical strength, a position which would concern this land of mine in particular."

"Think you so little of Harad that your first thought is of ways we might harm you?" Ghayur asked.

"Lord Ghayur, Gondor has never had cause to think anything else of Harad," Faramir said, beginning to let his exasperation show. "In the best of times, the relations of our two lands have been wary and at worst, openly hostile. What reason do we have to take you to our bosom after the manner of Rohan, a nation which has never taken up arms against our own?"

Ghayur's face darkened, and he visibly bit back several scathing remarks. Aragorn rapped his knuckles sharply on the table.

"Peace, Lord Faramir. Peace, Lord Ghayur," he said. "We do not desire to give insult, but as King of Gondor and Arnor, I must make the decisions that are in the best interests of my people. Therefore I give to you, Ghayur, Gondor's final message on this subject. Gondor does not wish to buy without knowing the price she will pay. We never sought to expand upon our current agreement; should Harad desire to do so, she must bear the burden of convincing Gondor that it is a good and necessary thing to do. The Crown would know precisely what Harad hopes to gain from Gondor. Until that is known, there will be no change in our current agreement."

There was a moment of silence around the negotiating table. Ghayur appeared to consider the King's words, occasionally shooting glances out of the corner of his eye towards the other nobles in his party and his guards, who stood impassively by the door. Faramir, Aragorn and their captains waited. For the first time in several hours, not a sound could be heard in the chamber.

At last, Ghayur stirred from his contemplation. He turned to his nobles. "Go," he told them sharply. "Leave this room." They stared back at him, dumbfounded. 

"But, most exalted -- " one of them began.

"Leave the room," Ghayur repeated. "Take the guards with you. Go now."

"But, Lord --"

"Out with you!" Ghayur commanded. He stood and hauled the nearest noble to his feet. The others rose immediately. Ghayur herded them to the doors, where they bowed low and backed into the corridor. Ghayur glared at the guards, and they, too, bowed their way out. Only after securely shutting the heavy oak doors and barring them with a chair did he return to the negotiating table. The lords of Gondor, having watched this performance in silent shock, sat a little straighter and began to murmur among themselves. Aragorn stilled them with a wave of his hand.

"Do you have something you wish to say, Lord Ghayur?" he asked.

"I do," Ghayur replied. "It is not for the lesser lords of my company to hear the words I am about to utter -- may a thousand demons of wind and sand beset their houses should they overhear." 

"They will not hear, for the walls are strong," Faramir said. "But tell us your secret now."

Ghayur inclined his head smoothly and looked Aragorn straight in the eye. "I had hoped to convince you of my peaceful intent by my gift to the Queen," he began. "Know, o wise and benevolent King, that I would not suffer a drop of blood to be shed in any house where she dwelled."

"That is encouraging," Aragorn said dryly. "Please, continue."

Ghayur was silent for a moment. He seemed to consider how best to frame what he had to say. "It has not escaped me," he said at last, "that my most illustrious hosts consider the circumstances of my ascent unusual."

"Say rather 'suspicious,' and you will be nearer the mark," Faramir put in. Ghayur smiled at him.

"As you like. It is the same to me. But now I will tell you the true tale of my coming to prominence in Harad and my achievement in power. May the skies turn to brass above my city if I should speak falsely."

"You are sworn to the truth," Aragorn said. "Now, say if you are or are not the legitimate ruler of Harad."

"I occupy that exalted station," Ghayur replied, "though I did not come there by the usual means. I was born to the position of lord vassal to Maruf the Sea-Born, my predecessor in this position, may his memory live forever. As was required of me, I remained humble and obedient, and I observed as Maruf made treaties and alliance with Sauron. At the time, I believed the lies told by Sauron, tales of the barbarism and evil that would spread from the northlands over our desert. And so I took up arms against Gondor and was defeated.

"In defeat, I saw the chance to observe and revise my estimate of my enemy. I began to see the lies that Sauron had told us concerning your people. Maruf did not. He chose instead to fill himself with bitterness and thoughts of revenge. He could not be allowed to hold the reins of power for long. And so I waited until my time was ripe, and then took action. I am something of a student of poisons, and I know which have swift effect."

The lords of Gondor began to talk in hushed tones. Faramir's gaze hardened, and he glared at Ghayur. "Then you are an assassin!" he snarled. "You would murder your own lord --"

Ghayur returned Faramir's glare. "I removed an obstacle from my land," he countered. "The politics of Harad are not as dainty as those of the fair north, I see. We do not disdain to soil our hands should the need arise."

Aragorn's voice was cold. "Nonetheless, you arrived at your current position by an act of betrayal. I fail to comprehend how this fact should encourage my trust in you."

Faramir turned to the King. "My Lord," he said urgently, "as we now know that Harad is ruled by a poisoner, I beg that we cut off trade altogether. I do not wish to discover that my Lord has eaten an imported orange and paid for the luxury with his life."

"My Lord Faramir, you slander me!" Ghayur cried. "Have you heard nothing of what I have said? I acquired my current position to oppose those in my land who, like Maruf, would in fact seek to wage war upon Gondor. I do not come to you seeking an inlet to poison the King. I come to strengthen trade, for in strengthening trade, one strengthens the channels of communication. It is to my advantage and yours that Gondor and Harad make certain of their doings more open."

"For one who wishes to unveil the secrets of his land, you have been very close about your intentions, Lord Ghayur," Aragorn said icily. "Am I to understand that you wish to broaden our trade agreement and secure access to our ports to facilitate mutual espionage?"

"Say rather, to uncork sources that the wine of information may flow more freely," Ghayur said. Aragorn sighed.

"By whatever name you wish to call it, the result is the same," he said. "I would think upon your request and take counsel with my lords. I declare a recess. We will reconvene at the King's pleasure, at which point I will make my decision known."

The lords of Gondor stood. Ghayur rose to his feet an instant later. He gave a short half-bow and walked out of the negotiating chamber, his spine erect and his head held high. 

Arwen and Éowyn and Éowyn's ladies had formed a small sewing circle. One lady with a keen eye for patterning had examined the baby robes and sketched the pattern pieces on linen. They had then pinned the linen patterns to the bolt of cotton fabric and had cut the soft stuff. Now, the garments passed from hand to hand. One lady pinned the pieces together, another basted, and others assisted Arwen and Éowyn in sewing the new cotton robes. 

As they worked, the ladies exchanged tales of pregnancy and childbearing. Unlike Arwen's attendants in Minas Tirith, nearly all of Éowyn's ladies had borne at least one child. They were well acquainted with the fears and anxieties that preceded the first childbirth, and it took little prompting for them to speak freely to their Queen and share their own tales. In return, Arwen told them of Halandir's suggestion that she compile the experience and wisdom of mothers into a single text that could be kept in the Archives to reassure other women who found themselves pregnant and bereft of family in whom they might confide.

"It is an intriguing idea," said one lady, who was edging a tiny cap with lace. "It seems that, even among the literate classes of Gondor, there are many ladies who become mothers without ever understanding how or why they become such."

"That ignorance is hardly limited to those ladies without family," the basting lady added. "Neither my mother nor my aunts could bring themselves to talk about indelicate matters, even after I had been wed. It was only a mercy that I had a grandmother still living who did not blush to speak frankly to me."

"I am happy to say that I was taught all about the origins of motherhood while I was still quite young," Arwen said with a smile. 

"Then the education of the Elves is that much more complete than the education given to certain young maidens of Gondor," the basting lady replied. "I would respectfully suggest that my Lady include a discussion of the . . . preliminaries . . . in her text. If the King would permit such a thing to be written, of course."

"Then I shall do so gladly," Arwen said. "And the King need not read it himself. This will, after all, be a text of concern to women."

"If I may be so bold, my Lady," ventured a very young lady who was hemming a little gown, "I had always heard that the Elves were the best ones for learning, and that when an Elf taught something, it was taught in the fullest detail. How did my lady come to know of the origins of children yet know so little of the bearing of them?"

"On the subject of children, my parents did not volunteer information," Arwen said. "They told me whatever I wished to know, of course, and when I came to the age of curiosity, I asked where children came from. My mother told me everything she knew on that particular subject. But I never thought to ask my mother or my grandmother about the specifics of carrying or birthing a child. It is far too late for that now. Celebrían and Galadriel have gone over the Sea, and I shall never see them again."

"That is so sad," the hemming lady said. "It is just as if they had died, only somehow it feels sadder."

"Sad it is, indeed," Éowyn said. "But that is what we are here to remedy. The Queen has no mother or grandmother left to her, so we must take the place of her lost family."

"Just think, Carlith," the basting lady teased the hemming lady, "today, you may take the place of sister to the Queen."

Carlith turned bright red and gasped. "Me?" she squeaked out. "A sister to my Lady? Oh, I could never!"

It was too much for Arwen. She laid down her sewing and dissolved into laughter. Soon, all the ladies were laughing and telling stories as if they had all been sisters from the dawn of time.

Aragorn glanced around once more to ensure that Faramir and the rest of Gondor's delegation were in their proper places. He had made his decision and wanted no uncertainty about the seriousness of what he had to say to Ghayur. Faramir sat solemnly beside him, and the remainder of the lords stood stiffly behind the table. Aragorn decided that they looked suitably impressive. He nodded to the heralds at the doors, who swung them open. 

"Enter!" they cried. "Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor, has made his judgement. Enter, and hear his doom!"

Faramir raised his eyebrows very briefly at that, but there was no time for further discussion. His features became impassive once more just as Ghayur and his lords stalked into the negotiating chamber. Ghayur marched right up to the table and made a sweeping bow. He straightened without saying a word and gazed at Aragorn, his eyes glittering, waiting for the word of the King.

Aragorn had to admit that Ghayur impressed him. He hoped that Ghayur had been sincere in his protestations of friendship to Gondor, as he was not a man Aragorn wished to meet as a foe. On the other hand, neither was he someone to be trusted with full access to Gondor's trading ports and internal secrets. Aragorn had spent an hour coming up with a plan that he hoped would satisfy Ghayur while still affording Gondor some measure of protection. He had then spent another two convincing Faramir to agree to it. During those hours, the two men had engaged in a lively discussion of all that they knew concerning Ghayur and what he might hope to gain from Gondor. It had been Faramir who had finally had a flash of insight into Ghayur's possible motives that convinced both of them that Aragorn's plan might have a chance of working. Once more, Aragorn gave thanks for his Steward's talent for discerning the thoughts of men.

"Lord Ghayur, Chief of All Harad, hearken now to the King's decision," he said formally. Ghayur's face remained impassive. Aragorn folded his hands on the tabletop. "I have seen the samples of trade goods that you have shown us, and I am most impressed by their quality. I do not doubt that an expanded trade agreement would enrich both our nations, but I am not willing to buy that enrichment at the price of leaving Gondor open to infiltration by agents of a lord I cannot trust even to be loyal to his own land. I will not agree to any expansion of trade between Harad and Gondor at this time."

Ghayur's face darkened, and Aragorn could see that he remained silent with some difficulty. He plunged ahead. "But neither will I break off trade completely. The current trading post will remain open, and our two nations will continue to exchange what goods have been traded in years past." Aragorn glanced at Faramir and took a deep breath. "In addition," he went on, "I have charged the Prince of Ithilien with a new task. He will enlarge the trading compound and staff it with a team of military and diplomatic agents. For a year, they will observe the course of politics in Harad."

"Spies!" one of Ghayur's men spat.

"Observers," Aragorn countered. "Who may be expelled from Harad at any time that Lord Ghayur wishes. However, if they are expelled before a full year is out, they may not fulfill the second part of their mission."

"And that is?" Ghayur asked.

"At the end of one full year of observation they will report back to Minas Tirith on all the doings and policies they have seen. I will consider their reports. If I am given reason enough, I will reconsider our trade agreement, and may even open negotiations concerning the military aid you so desperately need."

Ghayur stiffened. "Military aid?" he said. "I asked for no military aid."

"You did not ask directly," Faramir said gently. "But all your talk has been of what goods you would pay us and justification of your seizure of power. From that I read that your situation is more precarious than you would have us believe, and you would seek to shore it up with the military backing of Gondor. Our assistance would be bought with exotic spices, and the increased access to Gondor's interior would be merely a fringe benefit for you."

There was silence for a long moment. Aragorn could hear his own heart pounding. Ghayur leveled his gaze at Faramir and considered the man who had unmasked what he had tried to conceal by indirection. Finally, his face split in a wide grin.

"Hail Lord Faramir, whose eyes pierce even to the innermost hearts of men," he said. "The Men of Harad are not to be trusted, so they are to be watched, and if they behave to the satisfaction of the watchers, then they will be treated with. Tell me," he said, leaning closer to Aragorn, "what assurance you will have that your spies will receive true reports of Harad's doings? If I were as black of heart as you believe, it would be nothing to me to do with one hand and, with the other, to tell your military and diplomatic team what it wished to hear."

It was Aragorn's turn to smile now. "Tell me, Ghayur," he said, "what assurance you will have that Gondor's watchers will remain in their compound? You are correct; your land must be watched before we will enter further relations with you. I am not the Dark Lord Sauron, to watch from afar with an all-seeing Eye that may be fooled. I am a Ranger of the North, who will slip into dark corners unobserved and there see things intended for the eyes of no one. Your own observations of Gondor must surely have taught you to expect this."

Ghayur laughed loudly, startling the delegation of Gondor. "A fine speech indeed, o Ranger King!" he cried. "No longer is this the age of Maruf and Denethor, two fierce old men peering suspiciously at each other across the void of their lands. This is now the age of Ghayur and Aragorn, who spy on each other at more intimate quarters. Very well; I accept your decision. We will continue our trade, and you will set your observers and spies for a year. Perhaps I will return the favor. If you discover mine, you may kill them or expel them; it matters not to me. If I discover yours, we will see what may be done with them. At the end of a year, we will meet again and tally the score in our little game. And then, perhaps, we may at last sit together and do real business."

A feral gleam appeared in Aragorn's eyes. "Let the game begin, then," he said, "and may we both emerge the richer for it."

Ghayur laughed once more and directed his lords to leave the chamber. Just before he left, he leaned in close to Aragorn and spoke softly to him. "Know one thing more, o Ranger King," he said. "Every word that I spoke about your Queen was the truth. I will never shed blood in any House where she dwells."

"I believe you," Aragorn said. Ghayur swept another low bow and walked proudly out of the negotiating chamber to return with his lords to his own land.


	7. Eternal Happiness Or Woe

****

7. Eternal Happiness Or Woe

The King and Queen spent a last night in Ithilien, readying the wains for departure at first light. Faramir declared that the evening should be spent sociably, and that all who still remained in the manor house should put aside thoughts of politics and diplomacy and take pleasure in one another's company. "For," he explained, "there will be much time in the coming weeks to think on matters of sovereign import, and it is best to do so with clear and untroubled hearts. We have brought the negotiations to a peaceful close and thus have fulfilled our task. Let us now be merry." Aragorn could find no fault with this logic.

The evening meal was a relatively casual affair. Faramir had instructed the cooks to set dishes of food in the servery and had then given the waitstaff a holiday evening. The rulers of Gondor and Ithilien served themselves from the array of dishes, and Elboron and Olwyn were allowed to join them at the meal. Aragorn found himself unexpectedly flattered when Elboron insisted upon sitting next to him. As he listened to the boy's cheerful recounting of his day's lessons in reading and horsemanship, he decided that he would enjoy fatherhood.

"Your children are a credit to you, Faramir," he said.

Faramir gave a wry half-smile. "Nay, not to me," he replied. "It is my eternal good fortune that they take after their mother."

"Perhaps. Although this one --" Aragorn ruffled Elboron's hair. "-- has your mother's eyes, I think. Oof!" Elboron, encouraged by the attention, had climbed into the King's lap, inadvertently kneeing him slightly in the groin.

"Elboron!" Éowyn snapped. "Be careful! A King is not a climbing tree."

"His grandmother's eyes and his late uncle's temperament," Faramir said, moving to lift Elboron back down to his own seat. Aragorn waved him away and adjusted Elboron to a more comfortable position on his lap.

"He is most welcome," he said to Faramir. Then, turning his attention to Elboron, he said, "The King once sat in the lap of the wisest Lord of Middle-Earth, and you may sit in the lap of the King. But only until the King has a child of his own. Then you must be a big, strong boy and help keep guard over the King's child. Can you do that?"

"Yes I can!" Elboron declared. "Mama has already promised me a spear for my next birthday."

"See that she teaches you to use it well," Aragorn said, and Éowyn laughed.

In the wagon on the way back to Minas Tirith, Arwen arranged the skirts of her maternity gown and drew her lap desk from the pack at her feet. Aragorn watched with guilty amusement as she struggled to adjust it so that her belly would not interfere with her writing. When she finally had it placed to her satisfaction, she withdrew a manuscript and began to write.

"You were working on that text during our trip to Ithilien," Aragorn said after a while. "I asked you what you wrote, and you would not tell me. Will you tell me now?"

Arwen smiled impishly at him. "Certainly," she said, "although I will not bear any responsibility if you feel at all discomfited upon learning of what I write."

"Arwen, I have lived many years as a Ranger in the Wild. I have seen wonders and horrors beyond the scope of most mortal Men. I do not think that I can be discomfited as easily as you think."

Arwen gave him a significant look, and arranged her face into a prim smile. "Very well, oh worldly one," she said. "The women of Minas Tirith and Ithilien have very kindly showered me with all sorts of advice concerning the bearing and raising of children. At the suggestion of Halandir your Archivist, I am compiling this wisdom into a text that may be preserved so as to be of use to further generations of mothers."

"That is kind of you."

"In addition, at the request of certain of the ladies of the Princess of Ithilien's court, I am preparing a short introduction concerning the begetting of children." Arwen flashed Aragorn a look out of the corner of her eye and began to read choice selections from her manuscript.

As she read, Aragorn felt his ears burn and his belly contract in sympathy for the ordeals he heard about. He had thought himself learned in matters of healing, but he had only lately begun to appreciate the limits of his ability. Elrond had trained him thoroughly in the arts of healing battle injuries and certain diseases, but Aragorn had had very little experience with the complaints peculiar to women. He comforted himself by remembering that some of what Arwen read was new to her as well.

When she had finished, he swallowed back his astonishment and glanced at Arwen. She was looking at him rather expectantly. "It is well written," he said. "Very informative. I am sure it will be of great use for future generations."

"Thank you," Arwen said graciously. "Is that all that is on your mind?"

Aragorn blinked and stared out of the wagon at the slowly passing scenery. "Nine months," he said. "There is much that can happen in nine months. A war may be fought, or a child may be born."

Arwen's smile fell, and she dropped her gaze to her hands. "More than that," she said softly.

"More?"

"Among the Elves, a child is carried for a full year before birth. But you are not of Elf-kind, and I am not entirely an Elf either. I do not know precisely how long I will carry this child."

Aragorn turned back to his wife. Despite her visit with Éowyn, he could see some of her apprehension still lurking in her eyes. He put an arm around her, twining his fingers into her long hair, and laid his other hand on her belly.

"Do not despair, beloved," he said. "Whenever our child chooses to make his appearance, we will be waiting to receive him with love."

The next months passed reasonably peacefully. Aragorn busied himself readying the surveillance teams to be sent into Harad and overseeing the year's harvest and the subsequent festivals. Towards the end of the fall harvest, he made an Inspection of the Royal Granaries. Normally, such affairs did not last very long; several speeches would be made and the King would move on, having lent a small bit of glamour to the granary workers' day. Aragorn especially enjoyed his Inspections of the granary, as many of the men who worked there were Dúnedain of the North or veterans of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields who had known him before his coronation and respected him for his leadership, not merely for his rank.

This time, after he had made his speech and was preparing to leave, two granary workers moved to bar the door. Aragorn stopped, puzzled, and looked to his accompanying lords for an explanation. They looked blankly back at him. He turned to the granary workers and found that they were, to a man, grinning ear to ear.

"My Lord King," the foreman, Bregalad of the Dúnedain, began formally. "As we have ever been faithful servants and have kept our places at the King's side through all the dark days of watchfulness and war, allow us now to present the King with a token of our respect and devotion for the coming days of joy." He motioned to the side, and two of the Dúnedain came forth bearing a hand-carved wooden cradle, which they presented to Aragorn.

Aragorn took the cradle and opened his mouth to give a speech of thanks, but the words caught in his throat as he examined the lovely thing. The wood was dark and sturdy, and the sharp edges of the boards had been richly carved with vines and flowers that decorated the cradle even as they blunted its corners. A handsomely carved bow arched over the cradle.

"The bow is for draping things over," Bregalad explained. "In the winter, put a blanket over the cradle, and it keeps the baby warm. In the summer, a lighter cloth keeps flies away and gives the baby shade. Dangle ribbons from it to amuse the child."

Aragorn ran his finger along the delicate carving of the bow. Soon, a child would sleep in this cradle, and it would be his child. Somehow, touching the cradle seemed to make the baby more real in Aragorn's mind. There would be a new little person in the world soon, and this would be his bed. "This is beautiful," he said at last. "How can I thank you enough?"

"There is no need," Bregalad said. "For long years, the Dúnedain enjoyed the leadership of Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He led the troops to victory on the Pelennor, and he has seen that his loyal soldiers are provided for in the days of peace. This cradle is but a small token of the thanks that we owe our King." He bowed low before Aragorn.

"Rise, Bregalad," Aragorn said. He clasped Bregalad's hand in his own. "Though you do not require it of me, yet I still thank you. This is a beautiful thing that you have made, and the Queen and I will not forget your kindness." So saying, he raised his hand in salute and left the granary with his entourage. Two of the Dúnedain followed, bearing the cradle back to the Citadel. 

As Aragorn had expected, Arwen was delighted by the cradle. He set it on the floor of the royal bedchamber and nudged it with his foot to set it rocking. Arwen laughed and carefully maneuvered her growing bulk down to the floor so she could examine it. As she leaned over, though, she gave a small gasp and put her hand to her abdomen. Aragorn was by her side in an instant.

"Is something amiss?"

"Nay," Arwen said calmly. "Our child has awoken, and he begins to turn and kick." She took Aragorn's hand and placed it at a certain spot on her belly. Sure enough, Aragorn could feel the scrapes and blows of the child moving within his wife. He gazed at her in awe, which soon turned to astonishment as a small lump appeared on the side of Arwen's belly. The lump shot across to the other side and disappeared. Aragorn stared. Arwen laughed.

"That is our child," she said. 

"He will be quite the acrobat," Aragorn mused.

"Perhaps. But even acrobats must sleep sometime." Arwen ran her hand along the carved edge of the cradle. "This is beautiful. I will write to the men and thank them." She moved to rise, and promptly collapsed. She sat in shock for a moment, then tried once again to stand. Again she fell. Arwen stared at her husband, a look of dismay spreading across her fair Elvish face.

"Estel," she said softly. "I cannot rise."

"I will assist you," Aragorn replied. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and, by dint of some shoving, managed to pull Arwen to her feet.

"Thank you," Arwen said breathlessly, smoothing her gown. Aragorn laid a hand on her belly and smiled.

"I do not think that you will sit on the floor in that manner again until our child is born," he said with a laugh. Arwen tried to maintain a shred of affronted Elven dignity, but after a moment, she gave up and giggled along with him.

As the weeks went on, Arwen's cheeks bloomed as her figure grew ever rounder. Every week she went to the Houses of Healing and submitted to an examination by Ioreth and Doronrîn. The two midwives would listen to the baby's heartbeat through a tube of horn, gently prod Arwen's belly, and answer her questions. Ioreth would measure around what had once been the Queen's waist with a piece of string while Doronrîn busied herself recording Arwen's general health.

After once such examination, Doronrîn took the measuring string from its drawer and unwound it. Silently, she studied Ioreth's marks on it for a long while. By this time, Ioreth had learned that it was of no use to ask Doronrîn to explain her actions until the Elf woman brought the topic up herself. Not wishing to disturb her partner, Ioreth quietly slipped out of the Houses of Healing and went to pay a visit to another mother-to-be on the sixth level of the city. 

The woman's ankles had started to swell, and Ioreth sent the husband to fetch the woman's unmarried sister to aid her with her housework. After the sister had arrived and made arrangements for regular visits, Ioreth judged that Doronrîn had had enough time to think over whatever was troubling her now, made her farewell to the family and returned to the Houses.

She found Doronrîn staring at the measuring string as if it had offended her. "Good day," she said pleasantly. Doronrîn looked up sharply, and Ioreth stopped.

"The Queen grows too large too quickly," Doronrîn said.

"She is as large as she should be," Ioreth countered. "Full seven months along she is, and in the pink of health. The child will grow, of course, but I do not think the Queen is overly large. Why, I knew a mother once who --"

"Mistress Ioreth," Doronrîn interrupted. "Were the Queen a daughter of Men, I would find no cause to argue with you. But the fact remains that she is for the most part of Elven blood. Among the Elves, a mother in her seventh month of pregnancy should not be so large as the Queen is now."

Ioreth was silent for a moment. "Do you think that the child will grow for many more months?" she asked.

Doronrîn looked at the ground. "I could not say," she admitted. "I do not think she will carry the child for a full year. I am torn between my concern for the consequences should the child be born into the world ere it is fully ready and my concern that, if it is carried to the full term, that it will grow too large to be born."

Ioreth took a deep breath. "I have delivered large babes," she said, "and I have delivered early ones. But never in all my years have I delivered a child that was both large and prematurely brought forth."

"I suppose there is naught we can do but hope for the best. After all, we are charged with the task of guiding the Queen through something that has not happened in an Age."

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Ioreth went to answer it and found Amaethon, the messenger Doronrîn had sent to Imladris three months earlier. He was splattered with mud and smelled of horse, but he bowed deeply to the midwives. "Ladies," he said, "I took your message to the lords Celeborn, Elladan and Elrohir at Imladris. Over many long leagues, I have brought their reply." He took a folded piece of parchment from his pouch and extended it. Doronrîn took it from him, unfolded it and began to read. Ioreth moved to take Amaethon's cloak.

"Thank you most kindly, sir Amaethon," she said. "You have worked hard at our bidding, and you are a good man to serve your King and Queen so. I am sure they will agree with me, once they are informed of your service. Come along now, you have ridden a hard road and must have some hot nourishment. And a bath, I think; though anyone may guess which may be heated first, the food or the bathwater. Still, you may shed your boots and cloak while you wait. . . " Still talking, Ioreth led Amaethon into the Houses of Healing.

When she returned, Doronrîn had laid the letter from Imladris on a table. Ioreth glanced at it, but the elegant curves of the Elvish script meant nothing to her. "What does it say?" she asked.

Doronrîn sighed, and her eyes took on a faraway look. Ioreth was suddenly reminded of how very old her partner was, and blushed violently, as she had done when first meeting the Elf woman. "There are none left now in Middle Earth who have direct memory of the births of the children of Elrond," she said. "The Lord Celeborn writes that he had accounts of the births of the Queen and her brothers, and he related those accounts to me."

"What did he say?"

"He wrote that the children were larger than he had expected. The Lady Celebrían labored long and mightily with each birth, and he wrote that the Lord Elrond was sure that it was only the strength and vitality of the Eldar which sustained her."

Ioreth tried to smile, but her eyes betrayed her distress at this news. "But the children were born in the end," she pointed out. "And surely the Queen is blessed with her mother's strength of body."

"Perhaps," Doronrîn said gloomily. "But she has traded the life of the Eldar for the Doom of Men. It may be that even her inborn strength may not be enough to prevent her from laboring even unto death."

Both midwives were silent at that thought. Ioreth had several times attended women whose labors dragged on and on until they were sapped of all their strength and died of exhaustion either with or without producing a living child. Doronrîn's experience with death in childbed was not so extensive, but even she had seen exhausted or injured mothers take leave of their bodies and send their spirits to the profound rest of Mandos. Neither midwife wished to contemplate the same fate befalling the Evenstar. At last, Doronrîn broke the silence.

"Mistress Ioreth," she began, and there was a hesitation in her voice that Ioreth had not heard before.

"Yes?"

"Are you skilled at wielding a chirurgeon's knife?"

Ioreth was immediately suspicious. "Why should you ask me such a question? Do you propose to cut the child from the Queen's living body? Such a thing cannot be done! You would kill her! Are you so afraid for her ability to give birth to this babe that you would murder her?"

"Peace," Doronrîn said, holding up her hand. "I do not propose to murder the Evenstar, Mistress Ioreth. I worry that her strength should fail before the child is born. If this doom should come to pass, there is a way that the child might be saved. However, it is a hard way and would require us both to act dispassionately and with skill. I would know if you thought yourself capable of assisting me in such an act."

"What would you have me do?"

"Should it come to pass that the Queen's strength is expended, her body lies dying and the child not yet born, I will use what grace I have to mask her pain and ease her passage beyond this world. I cannot do that and wield a knife at the same time. In such an instance, I would indeed ask that you attempt to cut the child from her. Do you think yourself capable of doing that, should the choice lie between cutting the mother's dying body and losing the child?"

Ioreth did not speak for a long while. Doronrîn regarded her calmly, with piercing eyes, but did not interfere with her examination of her conscience. Ioreth thought back over all the births she had attended, and recalled in particular those that had ended with a funeral for the young mother and the half-born child still trapped inside her. At last, she faced Doronrîn and stood as straight as her aged bones would allow.

"I am old, Lady Doronrîn," she said, "and I fear that the birth of the royal child may be the last birth I will attend. I do not wish it to end in the deaths of the Queen and the babe. I will do as you say, but only --" and her voice took on a steely tone -- "if the Queen is beyond hope even from Elvish medicine. I have seen the King bring men back from the very brink of death, and I will not give up hope for the Queen easily. I will wield the chirurgeon's knife for you, but I will not do so until the King himself tells me that she is dying and cannot be saved."

Doronrîn nodded gravely. "Thank you," she said. "I swear that I will not suggest this course of action lightly or in haste. We will hold onto the hope that the Queen will indeed be able to deliver her child safely. But should all hope for her fail, we will turn to our last desperate measure to save the child."


	8. To Blow Well And To Bear Well

****

8. To Blow Well And To Bear Well

The winter came swiftly to the mountains that year, and the snow fell unusually deep on Minas Tirith. It delighted Arwen, who had spent most of her life in the sheltered, temperate lands of Imladris and Lothlórien, where snow fell rarely in winter. Nearly every day, she and her maidens would don cloaks, scarves and mittens and romp girlishly in one of the courtyards of the Citadel. The ladies took great delight in teaching their Queen how to catch snowflakes on her tongue and how to make perfect snowballs, solid enough to throw, yet light enough to shatter harmlessly on impact.

Occasionally, Aragorn would watch their play from a window as he worked, finding himself chuckling softly at the shrieks of laughter from the snowy yards. He was glad that Arwen's spirits were strong enough that she could enjoy the last months of play before she became a mother. An especially loud whoop drew his attention, and he peered out the window to see Arwen floundering in the snow as two snowballs found their mark on her shoulder.

"Ladies!" he called. "Do you know what the penalty in Gondor is for assaulting the Queen?"

The glowing pink faces looked up at him. Arwen laughed and pointed up at the window. "Snowballs!" she cried, and her maidens hurled their missiles upwards. Aragorn tried to shut the window against the barrage, but caught one well-thrown snowball in his hair. As he wiped his face on his sleeve, he heard the laughter of the maidens again. Such a deed could not go unpunished. Aragorn opened the window and scraped the snow on the sill together.

"Snowballs it is!" he shouted, and pushed the entire mass of snow onto the crowd below. Satisfied at the resulting shrieks of mock horror, he closed the window and returned to his desk.

Yule was fast approaching, and Éowyn and Faramir and their household would be arriving to celebrate in Minas Tirith. There would be several days of feasting and merrymaking, and Aragorn was preparing the orders for food and decorations to be brought to the Citadel. He would have the great throne room hung with garlands of evergreen and ribbons, and the kitchens would prepare rich cakes and roasts. Faramir had written that he would bring a surprise gift from Ithilien to contribute to the festivities. At the invitation of the Queen, he and Éowyn would remain in Minas Tirith until the baby was born.

Aragorn was glad of their extended visit. Éowyn would be a comfort and help to Arwen as the time of her confinement approached, and he was looking forward to the opportunity to spend time in the company of Faramir. For all that he enjoyed working with his Steward, Aragorn felt that he had far too little time to spend with his friend.

He was just signing the last of his orders when Arwen entered, still glowing from her play outdoors, wrapped in a warm shawl and bearing a tray with two mugs of steaming, fragrant tea. She was bright pink and her hair was still damp.

"We have come in from our romp," she said, "and we have taken tea to warm us. Would you enjoy a diversion as well?"

"No diversion," Aragorn replied happily. "I have finished the last of the Yule orders." He took one of the mugs from the tray and sipped at the hot tea. Arwen peered over his shoulder at the mass of documents.

"This will be a proper festival," she said. "It wants but one thing." She took quill and parchment and wrote out a final order in her firm, flowing script. When she had finished, she signed it and set it on top of the pile. Aragorn read it through quickly.

"A crate of oranges?" he asked. "Think you that we will need so many?"

"They are to be gifts for my maidens," Arwen explained. "I have sewn reticules of bright linen for them, and I will fill them with oranges to make gifts."

Aragorn nodded. "I will send this out with the next messenger to the South."

"Have you word from your garrison at the trading post?"

"At last report, an observer had successfully been inserted in the court of Lord Ghayur. The captains report that he has yet to remark upon this observer and that it is likely he is not aware of his presence."

"That is good news."

Aragorn smiled and took another sip of tea. "It is a start, at any rate," he said. "Perhaps it will turn out to be a good start. I think I should like to make peace with the Haradrim during my reign. I would not be remembered for war alone."

As Yule drew closer, the great wains full of provisions and decorations trundled up the long road to the Citadel. The lower rooms were fragrant with pine and berries as pages and chambermaids wove long evergreen garlands. The scent of sweet spices permeated the kitchens. Arwen's ladies prepared a great basket full of wool and linen swatches, and one day the court assembled for the festive swaddling of the apple trees. Musicians accompanied the King and Queen and certain of the higher-ranking officials to the royal orchards. There, they spent several hours singing and laughing and tying the swatches around the tips of the apple tree branches so that they would not freeze, but remain alive and healthy to bear more fruit in the coming autumn.

Aragorn found himself watching Arwen move through the trees and realized happily that when the next year's apples were ripe, he would be a father. Arwen reached toward the top of a tree, but found that her unbalanced frame would not allow her to stretch as far as she wished. Halandir laughed as he took the swatch from her fingers and swaddled the branch she had been trying to reach.

"Thank you," she said, with a wry smile. Halandir nodded to her.

"It is a pleasure to serve my Lady," he said. "Well do I remember assisting my wife at such times as she was heavy with child."

"You must share your wisdom with my husband," Arwen suggested. "For all that he has seen much of Middle Earth, he has not yet had the privilege of becoming a father. He would learn much from you, I think."

"It is the same and yet different every time, my Lady," Halandir said. "Each time, I learned something new about the world. And I have learned something new from my Lady as well."

"What have you learned?"

"My Lady," Halandir said, placing his hand over his heart. "I have read many books of lore, and I have seen great wonders in my years. But never before did I think to see a member of the Eldar race waddle." He winked roguishly at her, then bowed deeply. Arwen's gasp of scandalized laughter was drowned out by the cheers of the assembled court as two kitchen lads brought a great, steaming tub of hot spiced cider out into the orchard.

They drank a health to the apple trees, and then Lord Peredur declared that the Queen must spill some of the cider at the base of each tree for luck and for good bearing. Amid the good-natured laughter at Peredur's mild double entendre, Arwen did just that while the assembled company sang a song of health and good fortune to the trees.

The caravan from Ithilien arrived late the evening before Yule. Éowyn and Faramir were fed a late supper as chambermaids bore sleeping Elboron and Olwyn off to the beds that had been prepared for them. Before retiring themselves for the evening, Éowyn and Faramir insisted on showing their gift to the King and Queen. It turned out to be several crates of candles of all sizes, tantalizingly scented with honeysuckle and jasmine. Arwen inhaled their fragrance blissfully. Aragorn clapped Faramir on the shoulder.

"These will have pride of place in the ceremony tomorrow evening," he said. "Now let us be off to our beds before tomorrow dawns!"

The morning of Yule dawned crisp and clear. The cooks started their day before dawn, roasting deer, oxen and various poultry, boiling, mashing and dressing vegetables, and baking loaves of fragrant bread. Elboron and Olwyn were given oranges and sent to play in the snow with the other children who lived in the Citadel.

That evening, the entire court assembled in their finest clothes for the great Yule feast. The tables in the largest banquet hall were richly decorated with holly, and a jasmine-scented candle from Ithilien lay at every place. A great oak log rested in the unlit hearth. The King and Queen presided at the head table, resplendent in robes of crimson ornamented with gold embroidery. The crown of Gondor had been freshly polished and gleamed in the candlelight. In the Queen's hair sparkled the net of jewels that she had worn at her wedding. At the King's signal, all rose to their feet, and the Yule ceremony began.

Pages quietly snuffed the tapers and torches lining the walls. In the darkness, a drum began to play a steady rhythm, and flutes wove an ancient melody around it. "We come together on this night, the longest night of the year," the King said. "A great darkness envelops the earth, and we might almost believe that the dawn will never come. Yet I say to you that this is not the death of the world; it is but sleep, and we keep faith that the sun will rise, and a new day will dawn, bringing life and hope to this land."

A pair of pages bore a brazier full of quietly burning coals from the previous year's Yule log into the hall, its glow the only illumination in that vast, suddenly cavernous space. "As the old Yule log dies, so shall the new log be kindled, that the cycle of light and dark may continue without interruption," the Queen said. The pages set the brazier down before the great hearth and scooped the coals onto the kindling there. The kindling caught fire with a great blaze, and before long, the new Yule log had begun to burn.

The King took up the candle from his place and lit it from the Yule log. He carried it back to the table, and all took up the candles that had been laid at their places. The King passed the flame to the Queen, and she passed it to the Prince of Ithilien. The court sang songs of hope and joy as the candles were lit one by one. As they passed the flame, the pages lit new tapers and torches on the walls. Slowly, light returned to the great hall. When the last candle had been lit, the King raised his cup high. "Wes hael! A health to the return of the sun!" he cried.

"Wes hael!" the court replied, and they drank.

The Yule feast lasted long into the night. In between courses, musicians played, minstrels sang, and the court danced and made merry. Through it all, the King sat back and looked over the festivities in deep contentment. The Queen, unwilling to steer her bulk through a dance, lifted her sweet voice in song along with the minstrels. A tug at the King's robe commanded his attention, and he looked down to see the small daughter of the Prince and Princess of Ithilien examining the fine embroidery with sticky fingers. Smiling indulgently, the King leaned down and scooped up the child, settling her on his lap. Soon, she dropped off to sleep, worn out by the celebration and feasting. The King gestured to the Prince and Princess that he would guard their daughter and smiled as they moved off to join in the dancing.

A month after Yule, the festival was but a happy memory. The air was quiet and cold. Aragorn and Faramir sat in the royal drawing room earnestly engaged in planning for the spring. Faramir had cleared new farmland in Ithilien, and he and Aragorn were deep in a discussion of the best way to make use of the land. They were debating the merits of tenant farmers as opposed to small freeholds when Arwen appeared at the door bearing a tray of spice cakes.

"It is the middle of the afternoon, my lords," she said sweetly. "Will you not take some refreshment? I have baked cakes this day." Aragorn cleared a space amid the maps and papers, and Arwen set the tray down. As Aragorn and Faramir began to eat, Arwen absently tidied the maps and set the papers in neat piles.

"There is no need for that, beloved," Aragorn said. "We are not finished with the land plans, and we will spread the papers out again when you leave us."

"Forgive me," Arwen laughed. "I had not noticed what I did. It seems I am always tidying and baking of late." With that, she kissed the top of Aragorn's head and moved slowly from the room. Aragorn had to admit that she did waddle a little. Faramir raised his eyebrows at him.

"I do not think it will be long now before you are a father," he said. Aragorn looked at him quizzically. Faramir smiled. "Éowyn did just that in the weeks before our children were born," he explained. "The Lady Arwen is readying her nest for the child."

Several nights later, Aragorn awoke in the middle of the night to find that Arwen was twisting around in the bed. He rolled over and put his hand on her shoulder. "Beloved," he said, "you are kicking me."

"I am restless tonight," Arwen said. "The child writhes within me."

"Then we must soothe him," Aragorn said. He nestled Arwen against his chest and began to massage her belly gently. Gradually she became still.

"I am afraid," she said after a while. "The child will come soon. Ioreth and Doronrîn are fearful of the delivery. Ioreth worries that I have carried the child too long, and Doronrîn fears that he is too large for me to deliver easily. I think they do not wish to speak to me overmuch of the dangers, but I know that they are uncertain that I will survive the birth."

Aragorn tightened his embrace about her. "I will not lose you without a fight," he said. 

"There will be nothing you can do once my labor begins. Only promise me that you will come should I have need of you."

Aragorn stroked her dark hair. "I promise," he said softly into her ear.

In the morning, Aragorn awoke early to find Arwen already awake, huddled into the window seat, her arms wrapped around herself. "I feel strange this morning," she said. "When I awoke, I felt as though my body had tightened around itself. It stayed so for a minute, and then the sensation faded." She frowned slightly. "It tightens again."

Aragorn set a hand on her abdomen and felt the muscles tightening. He looked a question at Arwen.

"I think that the child will come today," she said. 

"The Lady Doronrîn will be awake," Aragorn said. "I shall fetch her here." Arwen nodded.

"I would like that."

Doronrîn strode purposefully into the royal suite several minutes later. She spoke softly to Arwen for a few minutes and examined her body briefly. "Yes," she said. "It has begun. The stirrings you felt in the night were the first signs. If all goes well, the child will arrive today."

Aragorn started. For months, he had waited for this moment, and on this otherwise ordinary day, it had arrived. Nothing would be the same after this day. Doronrîn opened the door and sent the guard to summon chambermaids to bring several changes of bed linen.

"We will prepare the bed now," she said, "but we will not need it for some hours yet. I will inform the Lady Ioreth." She turned to Arwen. "Go you now and take up what business or pleasure is most pressing, but do not stray far from the Citadel. Summon us when the contractions are strong and you count twelve in an hour. Is there anyone else you wish to have at your side when you give birth?"

"I would have the Lady Éowyn with me," Arwen answered. Doronrîn nodded.

"I will see that she is informed. Go now and take your leisure, for the time will soon come for hard work."

The day happened to be one appointed for the King to hold court and hear petitions and disputes, but upon hearing of the onset of Arwen's labor, Faramir advised him to limit his work that day. "Hold your court today, but only until the noon hour," he said. "No more public work should you perform today."

"I do not see why," Aragorn protested. "I am not the one giving birth, and I have already been informed by the midwives that I am not to be underfoot lest I hinder the process with my presence."

Faramir laughed knowingly. "That is what all midwives say," he explained. "And for themselves they may be right. But as a father twice over, I say to you that once your lady's labor begins in earnest, you will no longer be able to work. We will share the hours of waiting together, passing them in what idle ways we can best devise."

Lord Peredur looked up from the list of scheduled cases he was examining. "If I may, my Lord," he said, "The Steward has the right in this matter. I will trim this list and proclaim that my Lord will hold only half a day of court."

"The people will be disappointed," Aragorn said. Peredur and Faramir looked at each other, and Aragorn could have sworn he saw a smirk pass between them.

"The people will understand entirely," Peredur assured him. "Most of them have children of their own, after all. They know all about the long wait for birth."

Aragorn was an experienced leader of men, and as a hardened warrior, he knew defeat when he saw it. "Do my lords smirk at their King?" he asked.

"We do," Faramir answered cheekily. "We know our King to be a man of courage and daring who has had many adventures and trodden many strange roads in his life. Lord Peredur and I take great pleasure in witnessing such a man take the first steps of the most common and yet greatest adventure of all."

Aragorn laughed. "You encourage me, my friends," he said. "Come, let us to work, if there be only half a day for it. I will send messengers to Rohan and Aglarond and to the Elves of Ithilien, and then I shall dispense such justice as I may."

The first hour after noon found Arwen in the Archives, the sheets containing her manuscript on childbearing scattered on a table before her. At the moment, however, she was not writing. Instead, she was reading once again the letters of advice sent to her by the women of Gondor many months before. Her pains had increased, both in strength and in frequency, as had her apprehension. She had discovered midway through the morning that the contractions were more bearable if she did not sit still when they struck, and she had been in and out of her seat often in the past hour.

Arwen remembered that she was to summon Doronrîn when twelve contractions came in one hour. She had marked a slate with each contraction, and there were currently eleven marks on it. Nervously, she picked up a letter and read once again the thoughts of a woman upon nursing her child for the first time. She tried to reassure herself once again that she, too, would survive childbirth and would soon nurse a child of her own. In the middle of her promise to herself, she felt her abdomen begin to tighten once again. She picked up the chalk to mark the slate and promptly dropped it again as the contraction grew stronger than any she had yet experienced. Arwen tried to heave herself out of her chair, but the pain radiated down her legs, and she stumbled, scrabbling at the table for support and letting loose a gasp that was almost a shriek.

Immediately, the door to the Archives opened, and Halandir was at her side. "How goes it with my Lady?" he asked.

"My pains are coming faster, Halandir," Arwen said shakily. "The child is coming in earnest now. I must summon the midwives."

"Come with me, my Lady," Halandir said, slipping a supportive arm around her. "I will escort my Lady to her quarters and alert the household."

"But my papers . . . they are loose all over the table."

"It is no matter," Halandir assured her. "I will see that they are tidied away and kept in readiness. Come now. I will support my Lady, and we will walk together."

Arwen leaned on Halandir, and he guided her out of the Archives with strong, experienced hands. "I thank you, Halandir," she said. "You are most kind to care for me so."

"Surely my Lady is aware of my devotion to her," Halandir said. "Always I am ready to give aid when it is needed." 

Halandir guided Arwen through the corridors to the royal apartments. On the way, he sent several pages scurrying to alert the King and the midwives that Arwen's time had come at last.


	9. Should Earth Against My Soul Engage

****

9. Should Earth Against My Soul Engage

Aragorn had just finished with one petitioner and was preparing to hear a property dispute when a page bolted into the court chamber. He charged across the room and skidded to a stop on the polished marble floor directly in front of Aragorn.

"Whoa there, lad!" Aragorn said. "What news do you bring with such haste?"

"The -- the Queen, my Lord," the page gasped out. "I was sent to tell my Lord that her time is upon her, and she wishes to see my Lord right now!"

Aragorn jumped from his seat. Faramir placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Lord Peredur and I will cancel the remaining cases," he said. "Please convey our best hopes to the Lady Arwen. I will seek you out when we are finished here."

"Thank you, friend," Aragorn said, and rushed out of the court.

He arrived at the royal suite to find Halandir sitting outside with the guards. As soon as he saw the King approach, Halandir rose to his feet.

"The Queen is within," he said. "I have brought her from the archives and have summoned the midwives and the Lady Éowyn at the request of the Queen."

"Thank you, Halandir," Aragorn said. "Ever have you cared for your Queen in her time of need." Halandir bowed low, and Aragorn entered his suite.

Arwen, stripped to her new cotton shift, was pacing slowly around the floor of the sitting area supported by Éowyn. Doronrîn was issuing orders to the chambermaids who scurried in and out, bearing braziers, a kettle, blankets, an array of small crockery and a knife. She looked up when Aragorn entered, nodded an acknowledgement of his presence and went back to her work. Arwen hurried to him.

"Estel, you have come," she said softly. "You gladden my heart." She sucked in a breath, and Aragorn could clearly see the muscles in her abdomen move with the contraction. "I would dance with you, my husband," she said.

Surprised by the request, but not at all inclined to deny it, Aragorn took her in his arms. For a while, they swayed slowly around the floor together. Arwen sang a wordless tune, and when a new pain caused her voice to falter, Aragorn hummed through it. Between them, he could feel her belly moving as the muscles tightened and released. He let himself relax into the immediacy of the moment, accepting and supporting Arwen's weight, breathing in her scent and feeling their two heartbeats joining. Soon, within a few hours, everything would change. If all went well, Arwen would live and deliver their new baby. If all did not go well . . . Aragorn banished the terrible thought from his mind and hummed.

Ioreth, summoned from the Houses of Healing, arrived a short time later, closing the door quietly so as not to intrude. She stared at Aragorn in shock and moved to Doronrîn. "Why is he here?" she asked. "It is not our way to have the father attend the birth."

"Let them dance for a while longer," Doronrîn said calmly. "There will be time enough for the King to cool his heels later on."

Ioreth blushed bright red at the thought of a man in a childbirth room, but held her tongue. When the man in question was the King, she decided, rules could be altered. She turned her back to give the royal couple some measure of privacy and busied herself unpacking pots of salve and a jar of tisane mixture from her satchel.

Far too soon for Aragorn's liking, Arwen stiffened, then pulled away from him, looking down at herself in dismay. A wet stain was growing on her shift. "Ioreth?" she said. "Something is happening."

Ioreth was by her side in an instant. "The waters have broken, my Lady," she said. "Éowyn, please assist the Queen to the bed. Unbind her hair, and place the knife under the pillow; 'twill cut the pain right in two. My Lord," she said, turning to Aragorn, "It is now the time when only women are permitted in the birthing chamber."

Aragorn watched helplessly as Arwen knelt on the bed, facing slightly away from him. Éowyn untied the ribbons in Arwen's hair and began to massage her back. Doronrîn slipped the knife under the pillow and came to stand by Ioreth's side.

"Mistress Ioreth speaks truly," she said. "We will carry on from here. Should we require any other assistance, we will summon it." With that, she grasped Aragorn by the elbow and propelled him gently but firmly out of the room, closing the door after him. 

Aragorn found himself face to face with a load of books and papers. When the door clicked shut, the books and papers shifted, and Faramir emerged from behind the stack. He set his burden on one of the benches outside the royal chambers and grinned at Aragorn.

"I see that the lovely ladies have thrown you out," he said. "Our midwives did as much to me, on both occasions. Come, have a seat. It will be some hours yet." He gestured to the pile of books and papers. "I have brought distractions."

"What is all this?" Aragorn asked, leafing through the top papers.

"Romances, epics, old lays." Faramir shrugged. "We may pass the time in reading, either silently or aloud, or in conversation. I have arranged for cakes and ale to be brought to us later. In my satchel, I have a board and pieces should we wish to play chess."

"Surely you do not feel yourself obliged to wait with me," Aragorn said. "That is hardly a duty required of the Steward, no matter how loyal."

"It is no duty. I wait with you out of the friendship I bear both you and the Lady Arwen. And I wait because I know that the waiting will be difficult, and it is always easier to share a difficult burden than to bear it alone."

Aragorn smiled gratefully at Faramir. "You have ever been a true friend to me," he said. He sat down on the bench and began to examine the heap of literature, finally selecting a small bound book, which he handed to Faramir. "You have a fine voice," he said. "Will you do me the honor of reading this aloud?"

Faramir examined the book. "The _Akallabêth_? It is an interesting selection for this occasion."

"An appropriate one, I thought. This child will come of the line of the Kings of Númenor, after all."

"Very true." With that, Faramir sat down, stretched out his long legs and began to read aloud.

Arwen's breath came in short, shallow pants. She knelt on the bed, her legs apart, supported by Éowyn and Ioreth. Doronrîn busied herself warming a little pot of olive oil over the brazier. Abruptly, Arwen let out a long breath. Her head flopped forward in relief. Éowyn brushed back her long, dark hair. "You did well," she said. "The contraction is past, and you have a little rest now before the next one."

"I can smell the olive oil," Arwen gasped. "It smells comforting."

"It is my intent that it should feel comforting as well," Doronrîn said. "If you will shift position slightly, I will massage you with it so that you might not tear yourself while giving birth." Gently, she smeared some of the warm oil on Arwen.

Arwen smiled. "That feels most pleasant," she said. "To think that I should have waited until now to learn of this pleasure! Perhaps, once this child is born, I shall teach my husband this new art of massage." Her face contorted as another contraction struck. "That is, if I ever permit him to touch me again!"

Another string of moans and cries drifted from behind the heavy oak door. Faramir paused in his reading, and he and Aragorn looked up, startled, as they made out one or two distinct phrases. Faramir turned to Aragorn, his eyebrows crawling up nearly to his hairline.

"I had not thought that the Lady Arwen even knew such words," he said.

Aragorn shrugged. "Her brothers are both mighty warriors."

"Perhaps it is something they learn from the midwives," Faramir suggested.

"Perhaps," Aragorn said. "But I do not wish to be the one to ask."

So the hours dragged on. Aragorn took his turn reading aloud, selecting the_ Lay of Leithian_. The cakes and ale arrived, along with a covered dish that the kitchen runner explained had been requested by Éowyn. He knocked discreetly at the door. Aragorn and Faramir craned their necks to see what they could, but their efforts were in vain. Éowyn opened the door only just wide enough to let the dish inside, thanked the kitchen runner and promptly shut the door again. The kitchen runner turned around to find the King and the Steward staring at him, eager for news. He turned bright red.

"I am sorry, my Lords," he said. "I did not see anything but the Lady Éowyn."

"It cannot be helped," Aragorn said, sending the runner on his way. The ale felt good, soothing throats made raspy from reading aloud. Aragorn stared into his mug, absently crumbling a cake between his fingers. He imagined Arwen's face surrounded by the vague forms of babies in the liquid patterns that danced on the surface of the ale in the mug.

"You must eat," Doronrîn declared, presenting Arwen with a currant bun and a mug of cider. "It will be a long labor for you yet, and you will need all of your strength." Pale and weary, Arwen made no objection. She accepted the proffered bun and mug and looked around, searching for a comfortable position in which to eat. Ioreth sensed her distress.

"Éowyn, place a sheet over the window seat," she suggested. "My Lady may eat there, and I will remove a layer of bedding. The movement will do my Lady good, and it is time for fresh bedding in any event."

Éowyn nodded, took a sheet from the basket of fresh linen in the corner of the room, draped the window seat, and assisted Arwen to it, settling her down with her food and drink. Ioreth and Doronrîn stripped off the first of several layers of sheets and padding that they had tucked around the bed. They had just finished when Arwen moaned through a mouthful of currant bun. Doronrîn immediately moved to usher her back to the bed, but Arwen held up her hand.

"No," she choked out. "I wish to walk." Doronrîn and Éowyn obligingly pulled her to her feet, and they walked through the contraction. When it had passed, Arwen returned to the window seat and finished the currant bun. After another contraction, she drained the mug of cider. She walked through several more contractions until her legs felt rubbery, and she gratefully agreed to return to the bed.

The food buoyed her spirits for a while, but as the sun moved across the sky, she began again to grow discouraged. "How long has it lasted?" she asked. "I feel as if I have been laboring since the Song began, and I shall labor until the end of the world."

"This is not good," Doronrîn said to Ioreth. "Her strength wanes again, and the hardest burden still lies ahead."

"The pains are coming farther apart," Ioreth observed. "Something is hindering her labor."

Indeed, Arwen had not had a contraction for several minutes. Éowyn assisted her off the bed, and they walked a few circuits around the room, but no contraction came. Ioreth frowned.

"We must do something," she said. "The child could be smothered before it is born. Has my Lady's womb opened, at least? Doronrîn, your fingers are more slender than mine. What can they detect?"

Doronrîn seated Arwen on the bed and probed gently. "The womb is nearly opened," she reported. "Only one stubborn lip remains. I will press on it. It will be painful, but the womb must open fully, else labor will not begin again." Éowyn slipped behind Arwen to support and comfort her, and Ioreth placed a towel into her hands. Doronrîn applied pressure.

Faramir had brought out the chessboard, and he and Aragorn were deeply absorbed in a game, when their concentration was shattered by a terrible shriek. Aragorn leaped to his feet, knocking several pawns to the floor, and charged to the door.

He burst into the bedroom and had a brief glimpse of Arwen lying on her side and moaning before Doronrîn suddenly stood before him, her bloody hand outstretched.

"Out with you!" she said fiercely. "In all of Gondor, you are the King, but in this room, you will do what we say. Your presence is not required here, and you will be an unneeded distraction. Arwen must go over the Sea now, and you will not hinder her!"

Aragorn's eyes bulged. For a moment, there was no sound in the room other than Arwen's soft cries. His breath caught in his throat.

"Over the Sea?" he murmured. "Surely you cannot mean . . . she cannot . . . "

Ioreth hurried over to rescue her King. "Perhaps you should see to the Queen, Lady Doronrîn," she said. "I believe the pains have begun anew." Turning to Aragorn, she dropped a perfunctory curtsey. "Doronrîn merely uses a turn of phrase, my Lord," she said. "She told me once that it was a common expression in the forest where she used to live, but perhaps it was not used much elsewhere. We have several such expressions in my village, and when first I came to Minas Tirith --"

"What does it mean?" Aragorn asked sharply.

Ioreth chuckled. "It means nothing more than that the Queen must concentrate. As the Lady Doronrîn explained it to me, it means that she must concentrate so hard that her mind will flow elsewhere, to somewhere very far away. And over the Sea is very far away. Did my Lord not know that? I had thought that my Lord had lived with the Elves."

"Not with those Elves. And most certainly not with their midwives."

"Then my Lord has learned something new this day." So saying, Ioreth, who had always been quite deferential to her King, did something surprising. She placed her hands on Aragorn's shoulders, turned him around and escorted him out the door. "Do not fret, my Lord," she said. "The Queen is in the best of hands. Should an emergency arise, we will call for my Lord." And then she shut the door.

Aragorn dropped down onto a bench and sank his head into his hands.

"What did you see?" Faramir asked.

"Blood," Aragorn said. "And angry midwives."

"Do not dwell on it," Faramir said. He rooted around in the stack of papers and came up with an especially well-worn and dog-eared scroll. "Read this to me," he said.

"What is it?"

"A very detailed description of the hunting in the various fields and streams of northwestern Gondor," Faramir said. "Read it and let your mind go elsewhere."

"I will go over the Sea," Aragorn said, with a mirthless smile. He accepted the scroll and began to read.

"The womb is fully open," Doronrîn reported. Arwen gave a weak smile.

"This is good news, I trust?" she said.

"It is, indeed. With the next pain, you may begin to push."

"Push?" Arwen's face fell. In the long hours since her labor had begun, she had almost forgotten that she would have to push the baby out at the end. Éowyn and Ioreth helped her to squat on the bed, and she leaned heavily on them. "I cannot push," she moaned. "I have no strength left." Éowyn stroked her hair.

"You are holding up well," she said. "You have been strong and brave thus far. The next stages will not be nearly so long. Ioreth and Doronrîn and I will remain by your side. In a few hours, this ordeal will be past, and you will have your newly born babe to hold."

"And then I will forget my pains?" Arwen panted. Éowyn gave a wry grimace.

"Nay, you will not," she admitted. "But the memory will be tempered with the joy of the birth."

"That is some small comfort, at least." And then the contractions began again. Arwen screwed up her face and pushed, bearing down upon Éowyn and Ioreth with all her might. When the contraction had passed, Ioreth rubbed her shoulder and motioned to Doronrîn.

"Come, Elf lady, support the mother. My old bones cannot bear another push so powerful. I will take over the oil." Doronrîn moved to support Arwen, while Ioreth resumed the olive oil massage.

"Did you hear that?" Éowyn asked Arwen. "You are pushing hard, and that will bring the child forth into the world."

Arwen pushed hard through many more contractions. Her face grew red and sweaty, and Éowyn wiped it with a damp rag. When Arwen cried for air, Doronrîn opened the window and scooped a handful of snow from off the window for Arwen to eat. The child moved agonizingly slowly. The sun had set a while past, and the first stars had begun to appear in the sky. Éowyn pointed out the window.

"See," she said. "The Evening Star has appeared to guide you. Push again."

"I cannot!" Arwen wailed. "I will never push this babe out." Doronrîn began to sing softly, and Arwen pushed through another contraction, and another. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and the world narrowed to the next contraction, and the next, and the next. Sometimes Arwen cried out, and sometimes she was silent and far away. At long last, Ioreth, ever present with the olive oil, gave a gasp of joy.

"The head appears!" she said. "I have felt it. It will not be long now, my Lady."

Doronrîn unhooked Arwen's arm from her shoulders and guided her hand down. "Feel your child," she said. "The time draws ever nearer." Arwen's belly hardened yet again. "Push, naneth," Doronrîn commanded. "Push hard." Arwen's eyes shone as she felt hair and a little head and heard herself addressed as a mother. She pushed through two more contractions.

"I can see the head," Ioreth announced. "Here comes the child's little face." Arwen gave a shout of relief and joy. With her next contraction, she bore down with the last of her strength, determined to end her labor and receive her baby.

Nothing happened. The midwives looked at each other, wondering if something had gone wrong. Arwen cried out and pushed again. The child did not move. Éowyn whispered a stream of encouragement into Arwen's ear. Another contraction came and went with no effect. The midwives tried to conceal their rising dread, wishing not to alarm the laboring Queen. Ioreth made a discreet examination.

"It is the shoulders," she said. "They are too broad, and the babe is trapped."

"Can you turn the child?" Doronrîn asked. Ioreth slipped her hands into the tight space and attempted a gentle maneuver. Arwen wailed and began to push again. Doronrîn's eyes flickered warningly toward the pillow beneath which lay the knife. Ioreth followed her gaze, then set her mouth firmly. She would not think of cutting the Queen until no hope remained. Resolutely, she tried again with the next contraction to wiggle the baby loose. Arwen pushed. The baby did not move.


	10. Res Miranda

**Res Miranda **

"It is as I feared," Doronrîn said grimly. "This child of Man is too large to be birthed by an Elf."

"What is to be done?" Éowyn asked, wiping at Arwen's hot face with a cool cloth. Doronrîn thought for a moment, her eyes flickering back to the pillow. Ioreth frowned.

"I know what you're thinking, Lady Doronrîn," she said sharply, "and I will not give in to that despair yet."

"Something must be done," Doronrîn countered. "Either the Queen must be larger, or the babe must be smaller. It is conceivable that we could break the child's shoulder, and thereby make it small enough to be born."

"I no longer have the strength in my hands for such a task," Ioreth said. Another contraction rippled through Arwen's body. Ioreth raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps my strength will not be needed. Perhaps the child's shoulder will break on its own from the pressure."

Doronrîn turned to Arwen and took the Queen's face between her hands. "Arwen Undómiel, listen to me," she said. "You and your babe are in grave danger. We will do all that we can to save you both, but you must hearken to my words now. I must ask a supreme effort of you. With the next contraction, you must cease your pushing."

Arwen stared at the midwife in shock. "Cease pushing? Will my child never be born at all?"

"I do not know," Doronrîn said. "We will make every effort, but the child is trapped and pushing now will not help you."

"Already my Lady has labored near the point of exhaustion in the mothers of Men," Ioreth added. "My Lady has a store of strength greater than I have ever seen, but even the strength of Elves must come to an end. I do not wish my Lady to spend all in laboring until death."

Arwen nodded, and when the next contraction came, she panted and blew, but fought her urge to push. Ioreth tried again to work the baby loose, hoping that the reduced pressure would ease its troublesome passage into the world.

Aragorn and Faramir sat silently now alone, having dismissed the guards some hours before. There was no longer anything to say. Stories and games held no interest for either man any more. They listened to the noises emanating from behind the door and waited. Faramir had no more advice or experience to offer.

"It has been going on far longer than either of Éowyn's," he said.

Aragorn sat back and closed his eyes, willing the tears not to leak out. He thought back to the day, many months before, when he had imagined he would lose Arwen to an unknown disease. Perhaps he had been right. Ioreth had said that there was no illness, only pregnancy. But it seemed now that that same pregnancy would claim Arwen's life in the end. "How will I live?" he asked softly. "All that I have done has been for her. If she succumbs to the Doom of Men, what will be left for me?"

"You are the King," Faramir said. "You will have your people and your duty."

"I will be a King, but I will be the poorest soul in all the world. I will not lack for gold and jewels, and for land, I will have the greatest kingdom of this Age as my own, but I will forever mourn the greatest treasure any man ever lost. And all my riches will be as dust to me."

"That may happen," Faramir said. "But it has not happened yet. Perhaps that doom may yet be avoided. She calls you Estel, does she not? Give her yourself."

Aragorn scrubbed his hands across his face and began to breathe slowly and deeply, willing all his hopes and love to pass beyond the oaken door and give Arwen new strength. It seemed to him then that he saw her suspended in a dark void, torn between two paths, unable to move. One path was bright with the smiles of dancing children; the other was gray and cold as the marble tomb of a fallen queen. Behind her stood Lúthien and Idril, watching impassively. Aragorn took in the forms of these ladies of ages past and drew courage from them. They had survived childbirth, and perhaps they had passed their strength down to their descendant who labored on the other side of the door.

Arwen was finding it difficult to fight the urge to push. She had long ago abandoned regal dignity, and she writhed in Éowyn's arms, crying for her mother, as Ioreth and Doronrîn tried all the tricks they knew to free the baby. Ioreth applied pressure to Arwen's lower abdomen, while Doronrîn used her long, slender fingers in an attempt to grasp the child from the inside.

"Hold still," Doronrîn commanded. "We cannot get a grasp on the child if you thrash around so."

"I want my nana!" Arwen wailed, oblivious to everything save the pain and pressure of the baby stuck between her legs. She clutched at Éowyn, who seemed to her the only sane person in the nightmare in which she found herself. Suddenly, Éowyn had an idea.

"Stop," she said. "Perhaps she needs to change position. Perhaps this is what all of the thrashing is about. Her body knows what to do."

The midwives looked at each other and nodded. They sat back on the bed, and Éowyn loosened Arwen's grip on her shoulders. With the next contraction, Arwen fell forward onto her hands and knees. Ioreth and Doronrîn scrambled to adjust to this new position. Ioreth resumed applying pressure, and Arwen pushed again. 

"Ah!" she cried. "I feel it. Something has changed."

"The shoulder is free," Doronrîn said. "Push again. Push hard. We are nearly there!"

Arwen summoned the last of her strength and shouted aloud as she gave a monumental push. Ioreth pressed on her, and Doronrîn's sure hands guided the little body as, at long last, the baby slid free in a gush of fluid.

Arwen collapsed into Éowyn's arms, shaking uncontrollably. Doronrîn caught the baby and struggled to keep a grasp on her slippery body. She stared at the baby for a moment in panic. "Elbereth Gilthoniel!" Doronrîn gasped. "She is enormous! She is as large as any daughter of Men!" The baby stared back with a shocked expression on her little face. "Mistress Ioreth!" Doronrîn said. "She does not breathe!"

Ioreth scrambled over, snatched up the baby and blew a short, sharp puff of air in her face. Startled, the baby recoiled, then gave a cough and started to cry. Doronrîn sighed her relief as she wrapped the child in a blanket. Ioreth pressed hard on Arwen, and the birth was complete. At last, she withdrew the knife from underneath the pillow and cut the cord binding mother and child. Éowyn fluffed the pillows and laid Arwen against them. The Queen of Gondor lay still, her eyes shut, taking deep, shuddery breaths. When the baby cried, she opened her eyes.

"Is that --?" she asked.

"That is your daughter, my Lady," Ioreth said happily. "May I introduce the new Princess of Gondor." Arwen looked up and Doronrîn laid the baby in her arms. Immediately, Arwen's weary face lit up with the joyful smile of every new mother upon meeting her child for the first time. 

"Hello, little one," she said. "I am your naneth, and I am very glad that you finally chose to be born."

"Well, I never," Ioreth said to Doronrîn. "Hours of hard labor that nearly killed her, and here my Lady is, cooing to that baby as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened."

"That is the strength of the Eldar within her," Doronrîn said. "Do I guess rightly that a mother of the Secondborn would not have survived this birth?"

"Very likely. Rarely have I seen a woman labor as long and as hard as did my Lady and yet emerge alive with a living child." Ioreth smiled and dabbed at her eyes.

"Will someone fetch the new father?" Arwen asked softly. "He will wish to see his daughter, too."

"Let us clean things here first," Doronrîn said. "I will bathe your daughter if the Lady Éowyn will strip this layer of sheets from the bed." Arwen reluctantly surrendered her baby to the Elvish midwife. Éowyn gently placed a pad of soft, folded rags between Arwen's legs and worked the top layer of bloody sheets off the bed from underneath her, trying to jar her as little as possible.

"I suppose," she said, "that Kings enjoy seeing their children, but not the blood and mess that comes with them."

"That is very true," Doronrîn said fervently. Ioreth remembered the other King that Doronrîn had served, and she bit her lip to suppress a laugh. After all, it was hardly proper to laugh about one of the Eldar race in the presence of the Queen. But the Queen, though too tired to laugh, managed a wan smile. Encouraged, Ioreth laughed, as did Éowyn. Doronrîn dried the baby, wrapped her in a fresh blanket, and returned her to Arwen.

"What strange people you mortals are," she said. "Ever you laugh when you are told the truth."

It was the silence which woke Aragorn from his dreams. He sat straight up on his bench and rubbed at the ache in his back. Faramir lay stretched out beside him, snoring softly. Something had changed. It took Aragorn a moment to identify the difference. The cries and moans that had come from behind the oak door all afternoon and evening had stopped. Aragorn waited for a few minutes, but nothing happened. He prodded Faramir's shoulder.

"What is it?" Faramir asked, cracking an eye open.

"It is quiet."

Faramir sat up, muzzily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "It is over," he said at last. "Arwen's labor is over. We must wait a little longer, I think. They will come to us when they are ready."

They waited for a few minutes nervously. "Would that I knew whether the silence signified good or ill," Aragorn muttered.

"It is a strange thing to think about, is it not?" Faramir said. "On that side of the door, something definite has happened. Either Arwen and the child are both alive, or one or both are dead. On this side, all is still uncertain. Perhaps they are alive, and perhaps they are not. How strange that one slab of oak could make such a world of difference."

Aragorn gave a wry smile. "It is an interesting problem, but I fear that you will have to be the one to consider it. My mind cannot grasp the subtleties of your philosophy when my family is the subject of said philosophy."

Faramir was about to make a response when the door opened and Éowyn appeared. Both men were on their feet in an instant. Éowyn looked tired but triumphant. "My Lord Aragorn," she said. "At long last, your daughter has arrived. Will you enter in and meet her?"

Aragorn tingled all over as his despair melted away. He glanced at Faramir, who was grinning from ear to ear, and then at Éowyn, whose smile mirrored that of her husband. As if in a dream, he passed through the door. He took in the midwives clearing away their pots and herbs, stowing a basket of bloody laundry near the door and making a strange-smelling tea, but he had eyes only for the great bed in which Arwen rested, her face glowing as she cradled a small bundle.

"Hello, Ada," she said.

Gently, so as not to jar her, he sat down next to her. She held out the bundle, and Aragorn took it awkwardly in his arms. He peeled back the blankets and beheld for the first time the face of his child. She was purplish in color, her head was elongated, and her face was oddly flattened. She peered at him with vague baby eyes as he ran a finger over the tufts of soft hair on the tips of her ears.

"Ioreth says the hair on her ears will go away soon," Arwen said. "And she is still a little misshapen from having been born. It seems to have been as hard for her as it was for me."

"She is beautiful," Aragorn declared. "It would be a hard thing to choose the most beautiful lady in all Gondor now. The choice between mother and daughter is a hard one."

"Then do not choose. Sit with your wife and daughter for a while, and let us enjoy being three."

Aragorn laid the baby back in Arwen's arms and placed his own arms around her. The King and Queen of Gondor lay together for a while, enjoying the peace.

"You are a lady of great strength and fortitude," Aragorn said. "I feared you would not survive the birth, and I did not know if I could face mourning both you and the child."

"It was a near thing," Arwen agreed. "But I live, and our daughter lives as well. Let us put our tears in the past and rejoice in her birth."

"She is indeed beautiful," came Faramir's voice. Aragorn and Arwen looked up to see Faramir and Éowyn standing beside the bed, smiling at Arwen and the baby. Faramir bent down and stroked a finger down the baby's soft cheek. "Hello, little lady," he said. "I have heard that both you and your mother were very brave and strong today." He turned to Aragorn. "Does Gondor's Princess have a name?" he asked.

Aragorn looked at Arwen, at her weary but brilliant smile. The sight of her and his daughter warmed his heart like sunshine, but he could not forget the storm of tears and sorrow that had preceded this moment. "It is something beautiful," he said slowly, "for she is beautiful. It is a thing of wonder after a time of great woe, and it holds a promise for the future. She is Ninniach, the Rainbow that comes after the storm."

"That is a beautiful name," Arwen said. She tickled the baby. "Are you Ninniach, little one?" Ninniach gurgled. Arwen smiled. "Our little Rainbow is hungry," she said. Doronrîn stepped forward and helped position Ninniach for nursing.

"Feed her as I instructed you earlier. The Rainbow must eat, and then the Evenstar must rest," she said. "All other great Lords and Ladies of Men should also take their rest. We have been most fortunate, and both Arwen and Ninniach will still be here in the morning."

Faramir and Éowyn said their farewells and left. Ioreth finished packing her supplies into her satchel, and she and Doronrîn picked up the laundry basket. "Sleep well and long," Doronrîn advised. "I will be in my quarters should you have need of me." And then they were gone.

Arwen nursed Ninniach for the first time while Aragorn hunted in the cupboards for the bedding that Arwen had made of the last of Ghayur's cotton. He placed the soft pallet and blanket in the cradle, then arranged a pretty scarf over the cradle's bow. When Ninniach had nursed her fill, Arwen swaddled her, and Aragorn laid her down to rest. Arwen dropped off to sleep in his arms shortly afterward, but Aragorn remained awake for some time, his heart nearly bursting with joy as he listened to the night sounds of his wife and daughter.

In the morning, Aragorn sent messengers to all corners of Gondor, as well as to Rohan, Ithilien, Aglarond and parts further north. The messengers carried the joyful tidings of the birth of Ninniach, the Rainbow of Gondor. He announced Ninniach's birth personally to the citizens of Minas Tirith, holding her in his arms and standing on the same balcony from which he had announced Arwen's pregnancy. The people cheered the news, and the public scribes experienced yet another field day as the congratulatory messages began to pour in.

When Arwen was strong enough, she received a visit from Halandir. He had come to return to her the papers that she had been working on when her labor began, and which he had kept safely for her since then. He also brought a gift, a small book bound in dyed red leather which he had made himself in his free evenings. When Arwen opened it, she found that it was blank.

"Where is the story?" Arwen asked.

"It has not yet been written," Halandir said. "The story is the life of the little Princess, and it is for my Lady to write that."

Arwen's eyes glowed as she ran her hand over the smooth leather and the crisp, clean pages. "Thank you, Halandir," she said. "You spoil her as much as if you were her own grandfather."

"I do what I may to help." Halandir touched his forehead and returned to the Archives, whistling happily.

Legolas, Gimli and Éomer sent rich gifts by messenger along with promises that they would visit to meet Ninniach in person as soon as Arwen was able to receive such guests. And one morning, a page brought Aragorn a box that had been left at the gates of the Citadel anonymously. A note attached to the box indicated that it, too, contained a gift for Ninniach. Aragorn opened the box and pulled out a bracelet and a letter. The bracelet was of silver, large and thick, decorated with intricate raised beading and scrollwork, crowned with a centerpiece set with garnet and lapis lazuli. The letter was written in the Common Tongue, the characters carefully shaped, as if by one who did not write them well.

__

Peace be with thee, Aragorn Elessar, King of the northern lands, husband of the Jewel of the Evening and newly become father to the Rainbow! Be thou pleased to accept the most trifling gift which we send thee to be given to thy daughter when she is come to the age of womanhood. It is but a simple piece made by the wandering houses of the desert, and has lain these past one hundred years and fifty years in our jewel chambers, awaiting a maiden of high birth whose arm it may grace. Though there is little friendship between our lands, yet we beg of thee to accept our gift in earnest of the brotherhood that yet may be. We hope that the most high and noble Elf-stone will condescend to accept our humble gift and token. Peace be upon thee.

Ghayur, Lord of Harad

Aragorn stared at the letter and the bracelet, stunned. He knew full well that he had sent no messenger to Harad informing Ghayur of Ninniach's birth, much less her name or its meaning in the Common Tongue of Men. Ghayur's spies must already be in place in Minas Tirith, he realized, even as his own men had reported success in their early efforts to infiltrate Ghayur's court. The game had begun. If he played it well, he would forge an alliance never before seen among the nations of Men. Reading the letter through again, Aragorn smiled. He had a worthy adversary, and he would play the game well.

He tucked the letter safely in an inner pocket of his robe and went to find Arwen. He would deliver the bracelet to her for safekeeping and enjoy a visit with his daughter, the newest joy of his life. Aragorn did not often have flashes of foresight, but he saw before him a future in which Ninniach and the children who would follow after her would grow to adulthood without fear of their neighbor to the south. The House of Telcontar was well on its way to securing greater peace and stability than the world had known for an Age. It was, Aragorn decided, a legacy far greater than the defeat of Sauron alone, and one which he would be proud to leave.

END

****

Afterword 

Many thanks to all the readers of this story. It was truly a delight to read everyone's reactions and to see which parts of the story moved or amused people. My initial inspiration for this story came from my sister, who did her bachelor's thesis on midwifery and home birth. She shared much of her research with me (read: talked endlessly about her thesis), and I learned more about the politics of birth than I had ever thought existed.

Arwen's pregnancy was, by any definition, high-risk, and were she in the modern world, she would most likely not be attended by a midwife. Many women who are at risk of giving birth to oversized babies deliver by scheduled Caesarian sections in a hospital. However, in this history of birth this is a very recent development. The first recorded instance of both mother and child surviving a C-section is in the year 1500. Up until the advent of antiseptic surgery in the late 1800s, it was extremely rare for the mother to survive a C-section.

All of the midwifery techniques mentioned in the story, up to and including the possibility of breaking the baby's shoulder, are real, though they may not all be employed at the same birth. Shoulder dystocia, in which a baby's shoulders are trapped by the mother's pelvic bone, is a rare but potentially serious birth event. The baby is in danger of neurological damage, and the mother risks heavy blood loss from various tears and ruptures. Doctors and midwives are both trained to deal with dystocia, although their methods may differ. Interestingly enough, dystocia seems to be one of the few instances in which the midwifery community looks kindly on the lithotomy position for birth.

But enough about mechanics. I was pleasantly surprised at the reaction to Ghayur and his supporting role in this story. To tell the truth, he was intended to be a chapter-long diversion, but he quickly took on a life and a prominent place of his own. He is indeed, as one reviewer noted, a "smarmy so and so," and he turned out to be a lot of fun to write. I shall have to see what becomes of him in the future. I suspect it will be interesting. I was also intrigued that there were people who grew to like Doronrîn. I have to confess that, though I respect her, she is not someone I would enjoy being around. She is closely modeled on a gynecologist I once knew who had absolutely no bedside manner whatsoever.

Again, thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, and I will see you again soon.


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